Hearts and Souls
by Aaron Cronin
Summary: As Tony and Pepper begin building their relationship, they face business and medical crises, a new project with its own temptations ... and mysterious goings-on in the Middle East. Movieverse; set after IM2.
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 1: Prologue

Standard disclaimer: _Iron Man_, Stark, Rhodes, Potts, JARVIS, Fury, Romanov, etc, etc, etc. are all properties of Marvel Entertainment and Paramount Pictures. I am deriving no income from this piece – I'm just doing it for grins and giggles (mine and, hopefully, others'). So no lawyers, please; I'm allergic to them. All original characters are mine, but can be used by other _fanfiqueros_ if they ask (and give credit).

Constructive feedback is definitely appreciated. Unconstructive feedback will place the person giving it on a special list kept by Stark Industries Security, who reserve the option to send a couple of large-fisted and ill-tempered ex-UCLA footballers to your house. (Just kidding. Maybe.)

A quick author's note: This chapter takes place in the IM movieverse, about two months after the end of _Iron Man 2_.

* * *

Three meetings, in three different countries, pointing toward one future …

_Malibu, California, USA:_

Tony Stark was used to waking up at four in the morning; he had for years. But he wasn't used to it being so dark when he did.

For the last year or so, he'd become accustomed to waking to the sight of his bedroom washed in the soft blue-white light of his arc reactor. This morning, it was almost pitch black. Odd.

Tony did a quick physical inventory. No issues – his heart felt fine, his head was no muzzier than it usually was upon returning to consciousness. _Ergo_, the arc reactor wasn't malfunctioning. So where was the light? Tony reached for the middle of his chest …

… and found someone else's hand there, clutching the alloy casing, covering the transparent window in front. The arm attached was reaching from directly in back of him.

A millisecond of panic zigged through Tony's brain – was somebody trying to steal his arc reactor while he slept? – before his memory kicked in and set him at ease. He knew that hand … a smooth, delicate, long-fingered hand. A hand that had been a lot of very enjoyable places the previous hours. One that he didn't mind having around, not at all. He began to gently stroke the back of it with his fingers.

"Mmmm … whuh?" answered a sleepy voice from just behind him, followed by the wriggle of skin against his back.

Tony smiled, and carefully shifted from his side to his back. "Sorry to wake you up," he whispered.

"'Sokay. Mmmmh …," Pepper Potts replied, and slid over to lay her head on his shoulder.

Tony broke into a grin. He couldn't help it. Since their kiss on the rooftop two months before, he and Pepper had – cautiously – begun to let down the barriers that had kept their professional relationship from becoming personal. A dinner here, a walk on the beach there, a long (and late) breakfast spent toasting Landon Donovan after the U.S. beat Algeria in the World Cup. And then last night, they came back to his place after a lovely meal … and she decided not to go home.

To call it a wonderful evening would be an understatement. He just hoped she'd still see it that way in the light of day … or before dawn, for that matter. "You okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I mean … I mean, are you okay with … with what we … oh, hell …"

Eyes just barely open, Pepper raised up her head to look at him. "Tony? Why don't you just tell me the truth?"

Tony smiled again. That eight-word phrase had become a talisman for them over the previous several weeks. It served as an invitation to let one's guard down, a plea to keep the lines of communication open, an insurance policy against the kind of misunderstandings they'd often had with each other in the past, a promise to accept and forgive each other's faults … and maybe an inside joke too. It had served them well.

"I … I guess I was worried that after last night, you might … you might get cold feet and … I dunno, retreat to a safe distance?"

"Like I've done before," she replied with a wry smile.

"Well … yes."

Pepper chewed on her lower lip, considering for a moment. "Not this time. This … wasn't an impulsive decision for me. I've been thinking about it for weeks – I was just waiting until the time was right." She tapped him on the chin with her index finger. "And I want to thank you for _not_ pressuring me. I do appreciate that."

Tony shrugged. "I figured you were worth waiting for."

Now she turned her head away. "I'm blushing, aren't I?"

Tony tilted his head to look at her face, and then a foot or two lower. "Uh, yep."

Pepper stifled a chuckle. "You better be careful, or I might not let you leave this bed."

"And the downside would be what, exactly?" he replied with a smirk.

Now they both laughed. "Was I really that good, Tony?"

"Better than I'd ever dreamed. And I've dreamt about it for a long time," he added.

Pepper looked him in the eye, dead serious. "That's comforting. It wasn't just me dreaming of it, then." She leaned in for a long, firm kiss that might have led to more, had she not found herself stifling a yawn after about a minute. "Ngh. Sorry."

"It's okay. I learned long ago that not everyone functions best on four hours' sleep." As Tony said it, he helped her turn back onto her side and tucked her in. "I'm going to go work out. Any requests for breakfast?"

"Seriously?" She pondered it for a few seconds. "Pork chops. Scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese. Bowl of bran cereal, low-fat milk. Boiled apples with cinnamon. Hazelnut dark roast, sugar, no cream."

Tony's eyes widened. "Whoa."

Pepper shrugged the shoulder that wasn't leaning against the mattress. "I burned a lot of calories last night," she purred.

Tony nodded in acquiescence. "Consider it done." He leaned over her solicitously. "Anything else, Miss Potts?"

She pulled him down for one more eyebrow-melting kiss, then replied with a grin, "That will be all, Mr. Stark." Then she released him to go lift weights, and slipped back into dreamland.

_

* * *

Mumbai, Maharashtra state, India:_

No matter how well-padded the seats or how well-thought-out the preparations, a transcontinental flight is never a truly pleasurable experience. For a middle-aged man, stuck in business class, even less so. But the trip had at least passed without incident, and that was really all he'd hoped for. He didn't enjoy surprises – unless he was the one in control of them.

He used the walk from the Kingfisher plane to baggage claim to stretch his stiff legs, then got his luggage – three suitcases and a large, flat parcel, in addition to his carry-on bag – and tracked down a skycap to load them on his cart. He had to help the poor fellow (a Sikh, judging by the turban) with the parcel, which he expected; it weighed over sixty kilos and was an unwieldy shape. He was a big man, could've carried it himself in a pinch, but didn't want to take the chance of losing his grip and damaging it by accident. It was the most valuable thing he owned, and the main reason for his journey here. Better to accept the help of a professional.

Soon all was loaded, the Sikh had been promised a healthy gratuity, and they headed for the concourse of Terminal 2. He was worried about how he'd find his contact from the university – he'd been in India many times before, but the din of different languages, the bustle of the crowds, the very _foreignness_ of the atmosphere always set him back a bit when he arrived. _Disorientation_, he thought. _Means "loss of the east." Only fitting, considering how far west I've come to be here. Or how much I lost beforehand._

His worries were groundless. Within a minute he spotted a young lady wrapped in a sari, holding up a computer-printed sign that said "DR. WALLING" on it. He walked over, the skycap trudging behind. "Are you Dr. Martha Chavan?"

The woman smiled widely and held out her hand. "Dr. Christopher Walling, I presume. Welcome again to Mumbai." They shook hands and headed for Dr. Chavan's vehicle. "So how was your flight from Auckland?"

"The flight … is over," he said with a smile.

Dr. Chavan nodded knowingly. "I went to a conference last year in Munich. Twenty hours, with a connection in Istanbul. My body clock was thrown off for a week." She shook her head, as if to say, _the things we do for Science_.

He made a face. "Twenty-eight hours for me. With a layover in Hong Kong. I think I said 'I'm too old for this' at least six times on the way." She laughed, which was his intent. "But hopefully I'll have a few days to rest before I have to be in the classroom." Or take care of other … projects.

"Oh, of course," Dr. Chavan replied with a wave of her hand. "The Institute of Chemical Technology's academic year began on 1 July, but since you're not scheduled to teach until the next quarter, you still have a couple of months to settle in, set up your lab, get everything arranged. You have to understand how pleased we are to have you coming on staff. You could … what is the phrase? … 'ask for the moon,' and the administration would jump to do it!"

"Really? I hadn't realized that." _Far cry from how I was treated last year at U of A._

"Oh, yes. We are still a small university – the best of its kind in India, but not significant in comparison to Cambridge or Stanford or Heidelberg, or even your University of Auckland. We have been working hard to attract internationally-renowned scientists to our faculty, but you are the first who was willing to join us. ICT considers you … I believe the phrase is 'quite a catch'?"

"Well, I'm quite flattered – though I will do my best not to let it go to my head." That earned another laugh. "But I must say that I'm glad of the opportunity to come here. India is, in my opinion, more ready to face the future than a staid 'Western' country like New Zealand can ever be. This is closer to the center of the action, as it were." _In more ways than one – but she doesn't need to know_ that.

They arrived at Dr. Chavan's car, a midsized Hyundai, and she unlocked the boot so the skycap could load Dr. Walling's bags. Once again, he needed help with the big parcel. "What is that, if I may ask?" Dr. Chavan inquired. "Lab equipment of some sort?"

"After a fashion," Dr. Walling said with a shrug. "A … project I was unable to finish at U of A. Hoping I can make some headway on it in my free time." _Away from the thinly-veiled scorn of my "colleagues," God willing._

"Ah, I understand," Dr. Chavan replied, nodding. "As long as the universe exists, a physicist's work is yet unfinished."

"Too right," he said with a chuckle. He gave the skycap what he hoped was an excessive tip – judging by the man's profuse gratitude, he'd gauged it right – then climbed into the passenger seat of the Hyundai. "Are we heading to the Institute straightaway?"

"If you like. But I was instructed to take you to the apartment that has been rented for you. It's only a short walk from the campus – mostly graduate students live there. The administrators figured you would want to rest from your journey."

He smiled. "They're wise men, the administrators."

"Tomorrow, I can give you a tour of the campus in the morning, between my classes – show you where you'll be working. There will also be a welcoming reception in the afternoon, faculty only." She paused, then asked, "Is there anything else you require for the moment?"

"No, thank you, Dr. Chavan – I think that covers almost everything. Except … I don't suppose you'd know where I can find a Baptist church in the city?"

It was a good thing Dr. Chavan had just pulled up to a stoplight – her eyes went wide, and she took them off the road to look at him. "You are a Baptist? Why, so am I!"

He blinked several times. "You're jesting."

"No, truly I am not! My family has been Baptist for generations! Indeed, my great-great-great-great-grandfather was one of the first converts of the American missionary David Oliver Allen. We would be honored to have you join us this Sunday!"

"As … as would I!" _Well, what are the odds? Things really_ are _looking up._

_Lord, may your blessings extend to the work I plan to do as well …_

_

* * *

Approximately 1.3 kilometers west of Az Zubayr, Al-Basrah Province, Iraq:_

In a way, Adele felt sorry for Ruhallah.

Bad enough that the poor bloke had been forced to grow up in this train wreck of a country. Worse still that he'd been a Shiite, when Iraq's ruling elite ever since he was born was Sunni and considered beating down Shiites fun sport. But now, he was stuck helping to piece his country together again, in a newly reconstituted national army that was largely being held together by foreigners like herself. And to add final insult, he was having to take orders from a _woman_ for the first time in his life, a woman who was even darker-skinned than he was, a woman who was about as meek and submissive as a leopard. A woman who would never, ever, under any circumstances, even consider wearing a _hijab_.

Yeah, he had a lot to adjust to. So Adele cut him as much slack as she dared. But there were times when he'd forget that she was a superior officer – British Army, but a superior nonetheless – and do or say something that made her want to kick him right in the groin. So far, she had restrained herself … but her tour of duty wasn't over yet.

"All right, Sergeant Kadim – your informant said that the group was meeting just down this road?"

"That is what they told me … Lieutenant." She'd had zero luck getting Ruhallah to call her "sir"; they had compromised on her rank. "In an underground shelter."

She made a face. Iraq was honeycombed with underground installations, the deeply-dug fruits of Saddam Hussein's paranoid megalomania. "Any idea _where_ on this road?"

Ruhallah glared at his boots. "No," he grunted, as if it was an affront for her to even ask.

Adele suppressed a sigh. "Right then. Looks like we get to find out." She turned to her section, a mixture of Shia locals, old Iraqi Army hands, one adventurous and somewhat loony Kurd, and a couple of British Army "advisors" like herself. The latter were part of the last remaining presence of Operation TELIC, the 46,000 British troops who'd helped keep the peace in southern Iraq after the Fall of the House of al-Tikriti. Now, less than 500 remained to wrap up their mission – and hope it held together in their mates' absence. And while their role was supposed to be "a bilateral relationship with close co-operation in a range of areas: economic, cultural, commercial, educational and defence" (honestly, those were the Army website's actual words!), what they mostly did was go around and about, kicking tail and doing the thinking for the supposed "regular army."

Well, no one ever said war would be easy. "Bramley, Zaki, you two guard the vehicle and provide covering fire as needed," she hissed. "Williams, you take point. Hassad, you take rear. Everyone, keep your eyes open and for the millionth time, watch your bloody step!" A short pause. "Let's move."

The eight who weren't staying with the APC fanned out and began to patrol the little side road. At least it was paved, and while there were a few shacks along it, the available cover for an enemy to fire from seemed minimal. Hopefully, Adele thought, they'd be done with this little gavotte in a few minutes and then head back to base.

They were done in a few minutes. But not the way she'd hoped.

About a hundred meters along, Corporal Williams spotted a patch of bare ground that didn't look like the surrounding earth. He waved a hand to signal the others, who carefully converged on it. Sure enough, it was only a dusting of dirt over a wooden trapdoor. Adele nodded to Williams and Ruhallah to pry it up, while she and the others aimed their weapons …

And Hassad cried out as two jihadists popped up out of another, unnoticed underground hiding place just across the road. One held a Kalashnikov, the other an RPG-7 grenade launcher.

Chaos as the Kalashnikov opened fire and the Iraqis and Brits scrambled to retaliate. Adele shouted orders to her men, and quickly they took out both terrorists. But just as the fellow with the grenade launcher was hit, he fired his weapon – right into the belt buckle of Ruhallah, who was standing not two meters from Adele.

The air exploded in a flash of white light and blood as the high-explosive grenade detonated. Ruhallah (and Williams, right behind him) didn't stand a chance. Adele was thrown five meters by the blast. She looked around as best she could and saw three others from her section down, heard the rumble of the APC as Bramley and that crazy Kurd Zaki swooped in to rescue them, and tried to figure out why her left leg felt funny.

She turned her head to look. Her leg wasn't there. She reached out her left hand to double-check. Her hand was gone too. She tried to sit up, but something was wrong with her back.

Adele closed her eyes. She didn't know it would be almost a month before she opened them again …


	2. Chapter 2

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 2: Old Concerns and a New Challenge

For all disclaimers, see the start of chapter 1. Thank you to all the people who have subscribed to this story, especially the two who've submitted reviews – I'll try to live up to your confidence in me. This chapter is admittedly longer than most; I tried to cut it in two, but couldn't find a spot where a break really made sense. I hope it will be worth your time nonetheless.

Quick note: Chapter 2 takes place about four months after the end of _Iron Man 2_. Say, September …

* * *

"You okay?" The soft voice came from behind Tony as he stared out at the Pacific, glass in hand.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he mumbled. Even he didn't think he sounded convincing.

Neither did Pepper. "Mm-hm. You're drinking."

"I've been allowing myself one drink a day. This is my one drink." He turned his head to see her, hair mussed, wrapped in one of the sheets from his bed. In the silvery light reflecting off the water, she looked like an ash-tree dryad, roused from sleep by the cries of the infant Zeus.

"It's also your first drink in four days."

An able debater, this dryad. "You want one?"

She thought about it for a few seconds. "Okay … but only if you tell me what's going on."

Tony had wanted to talk anyway, so this gave him an out without having to back his ego down. "Deal. The usual?"

Pepper nodded and sat down by the window. "Go easy on the vermouth."

He built her a dry martini and sat down next to her. She took a grateful sip. "So … ?"

"So … I'm …" He had another taste of Laphroaig and turned to look at the ocean again. "I'm worried."

She couldn't keep an incredulous smile off her face. "Really?"

"It shouldn't be that shocking," Tony grumbled dryly.

"Well, that you're worried about something, that's not shocking. You admitting it is a little surprising …"

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Hell, if I can't tell you, who can I tell?" He paused to let her blush, then added, "And it's not _something_ I'm worried about so much as … _everything_."

That drained the smile from her face. "I don't follow. I mean, to me it looks like things are going quite well. You're in good health, the best I've seen you in years. You've seemed happy, relaxed. The company's in great shape – a couple of board members are even talking about a stock split. Insurance is covering most of the repairs to Stark Expo, and Mayor Bloomberg has said the city will help with some of the rest. Justin Hammer is scheduled for sentencing next week, and it doesn't look like Vanko left behind any assistants to continue his work." She paused, then asked, "What am I missing?"

"I see all that, yeah. But … maybe what I'm worried about is me. I'm in a new area now – I mean, of my life, of living. And so much of my life seems like it's … it's hanging, it's on hold, am I making any sense at all, Pep?"

Pepper nodded. "I think I see where you're going." She paused, then smiled sympathetically. "Maybe you've had too much time to think lately."

"Maybe," Tony replied, pondering the concept. "But I needed time. I'm just glad Ronny and the board were willing to give it to me. They could have justifiably thrown me out on my butt."

That was never really a threat, he knew – mostly because he knew Ronny Blankenship. The morning after Ivan Vanko's stunt took out a good chunk of the Stark Expo site – and almost took out Tony, Rhodey and Pepper as well – Tony had called Ronny, the vice-chair of the Stark Industries board of directors, and set up an emergency board meeting. At the meeting, Tony had … well, not quite "bared his soul," but admitted that he had some issues to work out and proposed a more formal leave of absence. Ronny, a retired Lockheed Martin exec who'd been on the board since _Howard_ Stark was in charge, was the one person in the room everyone trusted – a man whose integrity was unquestioned. He agreed to take over as acting chairman and CEO for six months, after which Tony would return to his old job. Pepper, finding after just a few weeks as chief executive that she was in over her head, had taken a voluntary demotion to a senior vice-presidency with a focus on keeping Tony pointed at the goal line; not that different from her old job as personal assistant, but with more technical responsibilities, a seat on the board and a pay boost. The second the deal was announced, Stark Industries stock had begun an upward climb that had yet to abate.

"But still, in two months I have to get on the horse again. And what if the "new me" isn't ready? I mean, Nick Fury still doesn't trust me enough to send me out on any S.H.I.E.L.D. missions. And did you see that piece in _Business Week_?" The piece, entitled "Iron in the Fire?", had speculated unfavorably on what Tony's return to active control of his company might mean and how well he'd hold up to the pressure. "Granted, I thought it was bullshit …"

"That does seem to be the prevailing opinion," Pepper affirmed.

"… but it doesn't mean they're totally wrong. What happens if I can't handle running the company plus being Iron Man plus dealing with whatever homicidal nitwit comes after me next? I certainly didn't handle it well before – I only need to go to YouTube to see that."

"That was then, Tony …"

Tony raised one eyebrow at her in a you'll-have-to-be-more-convincing-than-that look.

"Okay. Okay." Pepper set down her drink and began marking statements off with her fingers. "First of all, I've been around you eight to sixteen hours a day for the last decade, even more since May. I've seen the changes in you over the last few months, and if I wasn't confident you'd made progress, I wouldn't be sitting here next to you at midnight wearing nothing but your bedsheet."

Now Tony's other eyebrow went up. Among other things.

"Thought that would get your attention," she remarked with a wisp of a smile. "But the point is still valid. The person who's spent the next-most time with you lately is Happy, and he thinks you're doing wonderfully given all that's happened."

If Tony had a third eyebrow, he would have raised it. Happy Hogan, his ever-faithful chauffeur, valet, bodyguard and man Friday, wasn't one to soft-soap. "He hasn't told _me_ that."

"_You_ haven't asked him. Third would be Ronny, who has yet to stop enthusing about the ideas you've been proposing to him, and your demeanor in general. Do you know he already has Acquisitions looking into potential automotive assembly factories we can purchase if we decide to start making arc-reactor-powered vehicles?"

"That fast? I just suggested it to him a … what, a month ago?"

"Thereabouts. Let's see … Rhodey thinks you're really "getting it together," his phrase. Natalie Rushman has been sending cautiously positive reports on you to Nick Fury, though knowing Nick he may be slow to believe them. And after that dinner at the White House three weeks ago for the president of Chile, I got a call from _Secretary of State Clinton_ commenting on how much she'd enjoyed her conversation with you – and as you know, she's never been your biggest fan."

"Well, it helped that Bill wasn't there." Tony had made the papers during _l'affaire Lewinsky_ years before, when a reporter had asked him if he thought Hillary should divorce her husband. He had quipped, "If I were in her shoes, I wouldn't divorce him, I'd neuter him." Coming from a longtime Republican donor who was also a notorious Lothario, it hadn't exactly endeared him to the then-First Family.

"Nonetheless. So we have all these testimonials as to the improvement in your character. Versus … one magazine article by a writer who failed to contact anyone currently with Stark Industries for his piece. A piece that _Barron's_ and _Fortune_ both savaged within days of it hitting the streets." Pepper made a mock-thoughtful face, tapping her chin. "Funny, I don't think there's reason to worry much."

Tony looked at her, at the Pacific, at his drink (now forgotten long enough that the ice had almost melted), then back at her. "When you put it that way …" He sighed. "I hope you're right. Part of me still thinks the other shoe is about to drop. But maybe that's just having too much time to think, like you said." He set down his glass. "So maybe I should spend less time thinking and more time doing. Unofficially, of course."

"Of course. You do still have a fully equipped lab downstairs. And JARVIS has been sounding a little bored lately – if a computer program can be bored, I mean. There has to be something you can do with all your ideas besides telling me and Ronny about them."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Consider it one if you like." Pepper drained off the last of her martini and stood up. "Or, if you can't think of anything to do, I'm sure I could come up with something …" She began to walk – saunter, actually - back toward the bedroom.

Tony grinned, then had second thoughts. "I don't know … I have the flight to Washington tomorrow, and that 'mystery meeting' with Rhodey and who knows who else. I should probably be responsible and get a good night's sleep ..." Once again, though, he found himself sounding unconvincing.

Pepper smiled over her shoulder as she strolled away. "Are you backing down from a challenge?" She went around a corner, dropping the sheet behind her as she did.

Tony's smile became positively predatory. _That_ won't _be all, Miss Potts_, he thought as he got up to follow her.

* * *

Despite the extra late-night activity, Tony still managed to put a smile on Colonel James Rhodes' face when he showed up at his private jet for the flight to Washington. "Tone, do you realize you're actually eight minutes _early_?" Rhodey turned his watch toward his friend for emphasis.

"Sorry – I'll try not to make a habit of it," Tony replied with the "Stark smirk," which just made Rhodey laugh.

After the plane took off, Tony and Rhodey ordered drinks – a glass of chlorophyll and a light beer, respectively. Rhodey shook his head. "You don't have to worry about palladium getting into your bloodstream anymore – why do you still drink that stuff?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm used to it now. At least it's healthy. The real question is why you drink _that_," he added as the flight attendant placed the Miller Lite can and a glass in front of Rhodey. "It can't be for the taste – it doesn't have any …"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. To each his own." He poured his beer into the glass and took a long sip. "Now, why don't _you_ relax with a beer once in a while?"

"For the same reason I've given before – because most beer smells like Lysol to me. I prefer my alcohol to not remind me of disinfectant." Tony set his already-half-finished glass down. "In all seriousness, what is this meeting about? All I know is you rang me Friday afternoon and said you'd gotten a call that I need to be there, and you can't tell me what it involves."

Rhodey sighed and looked out the window. "That's because I don't _know_ what it involves. Only that it's coming from way up in the system …"

Tony rolled his eyes. "They didn't tell you?" He saw his friend shake his head, and sighed himself. "This is ridiculous. I mean, I have security clearances up to here –" He held his hand on a level with his eyebrows. "– and I know yours is even higher! Short of where the nuclear warheads are pointed, what exactly couldn't they tell _you_?"

Rhodey spread his hands as he shrugged. "I have no idea. All I have is conjecture."

"Okay, give me that."

"Well, early Friday afternoon I got a call from General Meade, who's in D.C. right now helping plan the next stage of operations in Iraq. He tells me that something's coming down the pike and I'm likely to get a call real soon, so don't make any plans before then. Ten minutes later, I get that call … from Ellen Tauscher."

Tony tried to recall the name. "Tauscher – wasn't she a Congresswoman from San Francisco or somewhere?"

"**East Bay area. But now she's Undersecretary of State for Arms Control and International Security Affairs. She's the one that tells me about the meeting tonight, and that both your and my presence is requested. She may have had details, but she wasn't giving them to me – and believe me, I tried to pry some loose. No go."**

"Typical political lifer, it sounds like to me. She knows knowledge is power, and she won't give up power …"

"Mmm, I think there's more to it than that. Because five minutes after _that_, I got another call. From Michele Flournoy."

That name, Tony knew. He sat up straight. "Undersecretary of Defense for Policy."

"That's right. And not only did she reiterate what Tauscher said – word-for-word – she added the phrase 'eyes only.' Once she hung up, I called General Meade back, and he basically told me that you and I had better be at that meeting or I'd be busted down to second lieutenant before I could blink. I won't repeat what he said he'd do to you – it's probably physically impossible anyway."

"Yeah, I have a feeling I don't have need-to-know on that," Tony drawled. He took another sip from his glass and thought. "So we've got three high-ranking officials – your direct report in the Air Force, and two Cabinet undersecretaries – leaning on us for this. One is DoD's point man – well, point person – for international affairs, and the other … does Tauscher's portfolio include liaison with Defense?"

Rhodey nodded, and Tony continued. "So we've got State and Defense working together very closely on a project that may or may not be connected with U.S. ops in Iraq, is subterranean top-secret, and is getting input from some very big hitters in the government. It likely involves international relations, or State wouldn't care. And if Defense is involved, it probably deals with some sort of joint weapons project."

"That's pretty much what I've guessed."

Tony was starting to wish Hillary Clinton hadn't been so pleased with him. "And they're roping me in. I do know one thing for certain."

"That being?"

"If they pull a Senator Stern and demand my suit, I'm going to tell them to do something physically impossible and be headed back to California before _they_ can blink." That got a bark of laughter from Rhodey, and from there they moved on to other topics.

The plane landed at the private jet center at Reagan Airport shortly after sundown, and Tony and Rhodey disembarked and saw a government limousine waiting for them. They hopped in to find two other people already in the passenger section. One was a zaftig young woman in a navy blue pantsuit. The other was a glowering Nick Fury. "Good evening," Tony remarked to both.

"God evening, Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes," the woman replied. She extended a hand, which Tony and Rhodey shook in turn. "Dara Sanborn. I work in Undersecretary Flournoy's office."

"The trusted assistant?" Tony replied with a smile.

Dara shrugged. "Well, the available one. The Redskins are playing tonight, and I prefer _real_ football, so .."

Tony nodded in understanding. "Enjoy the World Cup?"

The young lady grinned. "Until the end, yeah. I actually used my vacation time this year to attend the Slovenia and Algeria games."

"Sweet. Wish I'd been there"

"It was great. Watch out for us in 2014. Don't tread on this!" Tony smiled again and extended a fist, which Dara duly bumped with hers.

"I hate to interrupt the soccer pep rally," Nick growled, "but I have some things I need to talk over with Coach Bradley here." He glared at Tony with his one eye.

"O-o-okay," Tony remarked warily. "You know what this meeting we've been invited to is about?"

"No, and I don't care either."

Dara jumped in quickly and a little nervously. "I, I was only told to escort yourself and Colonel Rhodes, Mr. Stark. Mr. Fury was here when we arrived and, uh … invited … himself."

Nick ignored her. "Tony, what the hell did you think you were you doing on Saturday?"

"Saturday? Let's see … got up, worked out, had a light breakfast, read some scientific journals I'd been meaning to catch up on … chicken sandwich for lunch … spent the afternoon working on the fingers of the suit gauntlets – their reaction time is still a hair slow … ordered dinner from Oinkster … and then Pepper and I argued over what to watch on TV."

"Trouble in paradise?" Rhodey asked, half-joking, half-concerned.

"Not really. I wanted the UCLA-Washington game, she had a romantic comedy to check out. Neither of us could convince the other, so we scrapped both and threw on an old _Mystery Science Theater 3000_ episode."

That brought Dara back around. "I love that show! My boyfriend is a hardcore MSTie, and he's been introducing me to it. It's hilarious!"

"I know. Rhodey, can you believe Pepper had never seen _Manos: The Hands of Fa_ –"

"TONY!" Nick bellowed.

"Never mind …," Dara whispered, curling back into her seat.

"What I MEANT was, what in the HELL were you doing BUSTing up a wing of a PRISON in PAKISTAN?"

Silence reigned for several seconds before a confused Tony finally responded. "Pakistan?"

"Did I stutter? They're our allies, Tony, and the United States government would like to keep them that way. Stunts like that don't help!"

Tony kept his voice soft. There was no reason to rise to the S.H.I.E.L.D. director's bait. "Nick … I was nowhere near Pakistan on Saturday. I haven't been out of the U.S. since I helped break up that ring of mobsters in Juarez over a month ago. Today is the first time in weeks I've even left California."

Now it was Nick's turn to register shock. "Seriously?" he mumbled.

"Look, Nick, if you don't believe me, check with Natalie. Or, for that matter, with JARVIS – I don't know how you got access to him, but I know you have it. You can document all my activities that day if you like. But you won't find anything different from what I just told you."

Nick tilted his head to one side and just looked at Tony, as if he was firing B.S.-penetrating beams from his eyepatch. Then he relaxed. "Well, that's unexpected. I was looking forward to busting _you_ up, but I guess I'll have to refrain. You spoiled my evening, Stark."

"Apology accepted." Tony turned to Dara. "Any info you can give us on this meeting would be a help."

Dara help up empty hands. "I'm afraid I'm just the delivery service. 'Go with the limo, make sure they get to Bethesda' – that's all I was told."

"Bethesda?" Rhodey replied, and he and Tony looked at each other. High-level State and Defense Departments involved, top-secret project … and now they were going to the country's #1 military hospital? It still didn't add up to hard facts, but it was another clue.

Soon enough, they were at Bethesda Naval Hospital, having taken a route that avoided the thousands of fans heading from Washington to Landover for the Redskins game. Tony agreed to talk with Nick another time about the incident in Pakistan – as part of his consultancy with S.H.I.E.L.D. – and he, Rhodey and Dara went into the hospital …

… only to run into a couple of Secret Service personnel. "Sheesh-oh-beesh," he muttered.

Rhodey nodded in agreement. "If they're involved, this really is huge. Either that, or we're crashing someone else's party."

"My money's on the former," Tony hissed back.

Dara took the opportunity to say goodbye, and Tony made a mental note to send her a token of appreciation for being so nice about it all. Especially given Nick's belligerence – and that she'd have to deal with him some more on the return trip. Flowers? No, not appropriate for a professional contact – besides, it would annoy both Pepper and the MSTie. Maybe tickets for two to next month's U.S. soccer friendly in New Jersey? Who were they playing – Poland, Slovakia, Hungary …?

He thought of texting Pepper about it – she'd remember even if he forgot – but had to hand over his Blackberry and cell phone to the Secret Service men, along with providing ID and having his fingerprints scanned. "Any other electronics on you?" one of the drones droned.

"Nothing that's detachable." He heard Rhodey suppress a snort. The clone's colleague came over with a metal-detecting wand, which predictably lit up the second it got near Tony's chest. But Man in Black #1 showed #2 a notation on his clipboard, and Tony was passed through to a third Secret Service agent, who accompanied him and Rhodey to an elevator and hit the button for the top floor …

… where yet another agent asked for their IDs. "Sure," Tony replied with a shrug as he handed it over. "Anything else you need? Blood sample? Retina scan? Note from my mom?"

The Secret Service man shook his head. "No, sir – but I will need to ask the two of you to strip for a search." He looked stone-faced at Tony and Rhodey for a few seconds, then one corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Here's your IDs, Mr. Stark, Colonel Rhodes."

Tony smirked back, but Rhodey frowned and replied, "Don't quit your day job for that career in stand-up."

"Good advice, sir," he replied with a smile as he led them to a door at the end of the hall.

As they walked there, Tony leaned over to Rhodey and whispered, "With this much security, I think I know who we're meeting with …"

Rhodey thought for a second, then looked at Tony and said, "Naaaah. Why would _he_ be meeting with _us_?"

The agent opened the door, saluted and said, "Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes are here, Madame Undersecretary." He backed up to allow the two other men in.

"Damn," Tony whispered as he entered. Rhodey followed, shaking his head and smiling.

The space was not meant to serve as a conference room – it was clearly an anteroom to somewhere else – but it was being pressed into service as one nonetheless. Into the small space were crowded a table, six chairs, two doctors, two bodyguards, an older man with a stiff appearance, and Undersecretary Flournoy. The latter was already standing. "Gentlemen, good to see you!" she said, extending a hand.

As Tony and then Rhodey shook it, she continued. "Allow me to introduce Sir Nigel Sheinwald, ambassador to the United States from the United Kingdom." She motioned to the older fellow, then the doctors. "Major Dr. Jonah Goldman of the Department of Orthopedic Medicine here at Bethesda, and Dr. Archana Kaur of the Department of Neurosurgery at Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham, England." More handshakes all around.

Finally Flournoy sat down and motioned for everyone who wasn't seated to join her. He folded her hands in front of her and looked at Tony and Rhodey. "Now, you're no doubt wondering why we've dragged the two of you all the way across the country on such short notice, and have been so far unwilling to give you much information …"

"_Any_ information, actually," Tony interrupted. "With all due respect, Madame Undersecretary." He pointedly ignored the look Rhodey gave him.

Flournoy simply shrugged, as if to say, _what can you do?_ "I understand your discomfort, Mr. Stark – and I apologize if our secrecy caused you any hardship. But I think once you know what's involved here and the high priority we're putting on it, you'll comprehend why we've taken the security arrangements we have." She paused for a second, then pressed a button on the telephone in front of her. "They're here, Mr. President."

"This doesn't count," Rhodey hissed out of the side of his mouth.

"Hell it doesn't," Tony replied in the same fashion, and smiled.

"Good to have you here, gentlemen," the voice of Barack Obama boomed from the speaker. Once again, Tony got a glimpse of how the man had risen from semi-unknown state legislator to leader of the free world in less than five years. In person, his voice was commanding. On a speakerphone, he sounded like the Great and Powerful Oz. Agree or disagree with him – and Tony had done his share of both – one had to admit he had presence.

"I just wanted to make clear to everyone involved in Project Pegasus that this endeavor has my personal backing and is under my personal supervision. I won't be able to oversee every aspect of the project – I do have a few other things that need my attention –" He chuckled, and most of those listening followed suit. "– but its nature is of such importance that if successful, I expect I will be able to look upon it as one of the crowning achievements of my administration. And if you'll forgive me for piling on the pressure, Tony, I believe that its success or failure rests largely on your shoulders."

"You're not getting my suit, Mr. President," Tony replied, but with a joking smile. He and the government had come to an agreement months before that while Rhodey could continue to use the War Machine armor he had purloined from Tony's house in his service to the Air Force, it was with the caveat that it not be reproduced or tinkered with without Tony's and Stark Industries' express permission – permission that was not forthcoming. Still, governments were full of lawyers looking for loopholes …

"Nor am I going to ask for it, Tony – I've learned Jerry Stern's lesson on that!" Stern was up for re-election in his home state of Pennsylvania, and was behind in the polls to a Republican challenger, who was using Stern's demanding of the Iron Man suit to paint him as a socialist intent on stealing people's private property. The Democrats were sweating the potential loss of that Senate seat in an off-year election that was already tilting against them. "Project Pegasus, while it will likely involve much of the same expertise you brought to the design of your suit, is a separate endeavor entirely."

"Good to know, Mr. President. But what exactly _does_ it involve?"

"I leave that to Ms. Flournoy and the doctors to explain – which they will do, I'm sure, as soon as I shut up. Good evening, and do know that all of you will have whatever resources you need to make Project Pegasus fly, if you'll pardon the pun." And with that, the President hung up.

After five seconds of silence, Tony looked at Flournoy and said, "You heard the man."

The undersecretary nodded. "Yes, he did. But it would be easier to show you, and then tell you." She stood and turned to Dr. Goldman. "Lead on, Major."

Everyone stood, and Dr. Goldman led them into another room and passed out masks, caps and scrubs. As Rhodey put on his mask, he prison-whispered to Tony, "So why am I here?"

"Same reason as always. I'm a loose cannon, and you're job is to keep me out of trouble. What did you expect?" Tony added a smirk for context.

Rhodey rolled his eyes. "I hate being your babysitter."

"And I hate being baby-sat. So we're even. Look on the bright side – when they let us out of here, I'm treating you to the biggest steak we can fins in the Washington metro area. That help?" If Rhodey's expression (or at least the half of it not covered by the mask) was any indicator, it did.

With that more or less settled, Tony turned to Dr. Kaur. "So … 'Project Pegasus'? What are we doing, attaching wings to a horse?"

The small woman raised an eyebrow as her fellow doctor opened another door. "If I were you, Mr. Stark," she replied in a crisp Oxonian accent, "I would not call her a horse to her face."

It was only as they entered the next room – a fully appointed private hospital room – that the comment made sense. Two people were in there, one a nurse who was monitoring a truly enormous bank of machines. The other, in bed, was …

As Tony got closer, he had to suppress a hiss of sympathy. The black woman in the bed appeared to be around thirty, with a heart-shaped face and a halo of dark hair. She was wearing only a T-shirt and shorts, showing off the build of a woman in peak physical condition, with a shapely and well-muscled body.

Or at least, what was left of one. Her right leg ended at her ankle, her left well above the knee. Her left hand was gone as well. The scars of recent skin grafts showed around the edges of the bandages covering all three stumps. The effect was as if someone had drawn a diagonal line across the poor woman and removed everything south of it. To Tony, it was like taking an axe to Botticelli's _Birth of Venus_ …

Ambassador Sheinwald handled the introductions. "Tony Stark of Stark Industries and Colonel James Rhodes of the United States Air Force, may I present Lieutenant Adele Carey, most recently with British Army advisory forces in Iraq. Lieutenant Carey, Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes."

Adele used her right hand to push herself up into a sitting position, and then salute. "Pleased to meet you, sirs. You'll excuse me for not standing." Her voice was deep and musical, with a pronounced Midlands accent.

And, Tony noted, only the barest hint of self-consciousness. "Understood. Seems you got yourself in some trouble over in the sandbox?"

She waved her hand as if to say, _no big deal_. "Oh, you should see the other bloke." But her accompanying chuckle was cut off by a hiss and gritted teeth. "Nghh. Phantom pain. Sorry." She flexed her left arm.

"Quite all right," Tony remarked flatly. "So … what happened, if I may be so nosy?"

Before Adele could answer, Dr. Kaur did. "Lieutenant Carey was part of a section attempting to root out members of al-Qaeda in Iraq when an insurgent fired a high-explosive rocket-propelled grenade into her group. The blast went off less than three meters away from her. Besides the injuries you can see, she suffered six broken ribs, two cracked vertebrae, various internal injuries and a ruptured eardrum."

"And I got sand in my eyes," Adele chipped in. "Can't forget that."

"Her sense of humor, at least, survived intact," Dr. Kaur continued, in a tone that indicated she thought it a mixed blessing. "And doctors were able to repair everything that was damaged. What they – we – have not been able to do is replace what was lost. And this is why you've been asked here, Mr. Stark."

Tony's brow furrowed. "I'm not sure I follow, Doctor. You're talking about prostheses?"

"No, Mr. Stark. _Replacements_. Working limbs, connected to her nervous system."

Tony looked in shock at her, then at Dr. Goldman and the politicians. "I … don't think you know what you're asking. I don't even know that it's possible – you'd have to build systems that would translate electrochemical signals from the brain into electrical ones, you'd have to hook them up to the remaining nerves without killing the patient, and you'd have to create connections and supporting material that the immune system won't reject. The hardware would need to function almost exactly like the body parts they were replacing, so the brain could make sense of the signals it was getting back, and the amount of detail necessary would be enormous! And the software would be just as complex …"

The ambassador turned to Undersecretary Flournoy, while gesturing at Tony. "It took our scientists a week to codify the major issues – he just did it in thirty seconds?"

"I told you, Mr. Ambassador," she replied. "If anyone can pull it off, he can."

"But I don't know that I can – frankly, I don't know that anyone ever will. I mean, I've built stuff that will augment _existing_ limbs. But what you're talking is a quantum leap ahead of that. There is no way I can promise success – not with a clear conscience. Not when there's a human being involved. I can't treat her as a, as a guinea pig!"

"If I may," Adele chimed in. "It might help you to know that I volunteered to be the 'guinea pig' in this case." Now she was dead serious.

"And we're not asking you to promise success, Mr. Stark," Flournoy added. "But you've worked magic before … well, technology indistinguishable from magic, to quote Arthur C. Clarke. All we're asking is if you'd be willing to make the attempt."

"And if it doesn't work, we still have the option of standard prostheses," Dr. Kaur continued.

"But given the choice, I'd rather risk something better," Adele concluded. "I'd rather not go through life as "Pegleg Pete'." The sadness in her voice came through clear as a bell.

Tony looked down at the floor for a moment. Now he realized why secrecy had been paramount. What they were asking verged close to experimenting on human beings, at least in the early stages. Not to mention what "cyborg"-type technology could be used for in the wrong hands. Yeah, keeping this on the "down low" was a logical reaction.

But the more he thought about it on its own merits, the more intriguing the concept became. It would be mind-knottingly difficult … but as Pepper had so cleverly illustrated last night, he was not one to back away from a challenge. This project would keep his mind off other worries for the time being. But most of all, so many people would benefit from this – especially soldiers. He always did have a soft spot for war heroes – even the President's opponent in the last election. To be able to do something like this that would help them for decades to come … well, if he could make it happen …

He couldn't help but smile. The "old Tony" would have taken it on just for the profits, and the ego-boost of showing that he could do it. The "new Tony" appreciated those arguments, but also got a touch misty-eyed at the thought of veterans being able to walk normally again.

He looked up at Flournoy. "This could take a lot of resources, a lot of man-hours, to even give it a run. Not just my man-hours, either - Stark Industries man-hours, military man-hours, medical, government …"

"You'll have whatever you need, Mr. Stark, I can guarantee that. And we can work out compensation for any of your own or your company's resources that get used in the process. But I need to be able to tell the President whether or not you and your people are willing to make a go of this."

Tony turned to Adele – it was her carcass, after all. "You sure about this, Lieutenant?"

"Positive, Mr. Stark."

"Then, Madame Undersecretary," Tony finished with a trademark smirk, "tell your boss … yes, we can."


	3. Chapter 3

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 3: Meetings, Planned and Unplanned

For all disclaimers, see the start of chapter 1.

* * *

After the meeting (and a warning from Undersecretary Flournoy to involve as few people as possible for the time being), Tony was eager to jump into the project. Eager enough to immediately head back to his plane and go home so he could start working on it. Eager enough that he was already jotting notes to himself during the ride back to Reagan Airport.

Eager enough to put a grin on Rhodey's face. "Oh my," he drawled as they settled into their seats on the private jet.

"Yes, Lieutenant Sulu?" Tony replied with a smile.

Rhodey ignored the _Star Trek_ reference. "Tone, you look like somebody just plugged you back in."

Tony's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? Wait, how did I look before?"

Rhodey gave himself a moment to think about his phrasing before he replied. "Like you weren't totally engaged. Like you were dealing with too much inside to do much outside …"

"Fair enough description."

"Seriously, man, even when we beat on those _maquiladora_ thugs down in Juarez last month, it was like your mind was elsewhere, on vacation."

Tony thought about it. "Jeez, you're probably right. But," he added with a smirk, holding up his tablet computer with the notes he'd been making, "vacation's clearly over."

"That's what I'm talking 'bout!" Rhodey added enthusiastically, punctuating it with a clap on Tony's shoulder. "Good to have the rest of you back, man."

"Umm … good to be back?" Tony seemed about to go on, but was interrupted by two things: the pilot's voice on the PA announcing their imminent takeoff, and a tinny version of "Wild Blue Yonder."

"Oh, that's me," Rhodey said, reaching for his cell phone.

"How did I already know that?" Tony mumbled, returning to his tablet computer to scribble more ideas.

The plane was already in the air by the time Rhodey's phone call cut out due to distance from the nearest tower. All Tony had been able to decipher was that whoever was calling outranked his friend. "Anything I need to know about?"

"Yeah," Rhodey said with a nod as he re-holstered his celly. "That was General Meade. Get used to being baby-sat, because I've been assigned to Project Pegasus 'for the duration,' his words."

"Sounds like Ms. Flournoy really does have the firepower concentrated for this one."

Rhodey shook his head. "General Meade didn't get that one from Flournoy. He got it from Secretary of Defense Gates. And Secretary Gates got it from The Man on the Speakerphone."

Tony raised one eyebrow. "This is going to look very good on your resume, Platypus."

"I suppose," he said with a sigh. "But I still hate babysitting you."

Tony saw the flight attendant approach. "Well, Rhodey, it's time for baby's bottle. Barb, do we have any of the 25-year-old Chivas on board?"

"We have one back in the galley. Unopened."

"Open it, and pour us one each. A toast is in order." When she returned with the tumblers, Tony passed one to Rhodey and raised the other. "To getting back on my feet … and more importantly, to getting Lieutenant Carey back on _her_ feet."

"I'll drink to that." Rhodey clinked glasses with Tony and took a sip. "Mmmm … this is really smooth."

"At three hundred a bottle, it had better be. Let me bounce some ideas off of you …"

* * *

Tony slept on the plane and was ready to roll by the time they landed in Los Angeles at 4:30 a.m. Tuesday. After his usual morning ritual – work out, shower, dress, espresso – he gave a still-logy Pepper a quick rundown of Project Pegasus. He'd realized quickly that, security or no security, two people were going to have to immediately be brought into the loop on his end – Pepper (his most trusted associate, and from whom he could hide nothing without paying for it dearly) and Ronny Blankenship (who was, after all, minding the store at Stark Industries for several more weeks). Natalie Rushman … he'd fill her in when he needed to. Technically, she was back to being Tony's personal assistant, but she was still Nick Fury's creature, and this wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. matter. Yet, anyway.

Natalie was waiting at the entrance to Stark HQ when Happy dropped Tony off for his weekly visit. She moved quickly to match strides with him. "Welcome back, sir."

"Thank you. Washington, D.C. says hi. Any fires that need to be doused before the conference call?" Item one every Tuesday was a weekly conference call with the Stark board, with Ronny presiding and Tony chipping in as he would. There were still nine meetings before the two switched places.

"One, maybe. Charles Elachi called …"

"JPL, right?" Cal Tech's Jet Propulsion Laboratories was a steady Stark Industries customer.

"… right, and he specifically wanted to talk to you …"

"What, Ronny's not good enough for him?"

".. Ronny's referring it to you … regarding the possibility of the next generation of VTOL vehicles for NASA …"

"That would be right up our alley, wouldn't it?"

"… I'd certainly think so – but he specifically wanted you to call him back today. Apparently he's got a big meeting with NASA brass tomorrow …"

"… and he'd like to be able to drop it on them and get the ball rolling."

" … exactly. Workable?"

"More doable than Lady Gaga. Let him know I'll call him this morning after the board's finished with me. But after that I expect to be locked up with Ronny for a few hours. I'll let him decide what we'll do with any calls in."

"Got it. Oh, and Andrea Steiner from _Forbes_ …"

"Damn it, how many times have we told her, no interviews before I take the reins back on November 8?"

"… not sure, but I think we're in double digits. Including my repeating it this morning."

"Okay. Call her back and tell her she'll have her interview before Thanksgiving – _if_ she doesn't call again before 11/8. She calls again, she drops to the bottom of the list AND I tell her editors why. Think that'll do it?"

"More doable than Justin Timberlake, sir," Natalie replied with a smirk of her own.

"That little gargoyle? Never mind – talk to you later." Before Natalie could respond to his characterization of Timberlake, he ducked into Ronny's office.

Well, what passed for Ronny's office, anyway. When Tony struck his deal with the board, he had offered Ronny the use of his own CEO's office on the tenth floor. Ronny wouldn't hear of it, instead commandeering a small meeting room at ground level. He claimed it was because he didn't want to worry about getting downstairs in case of an earthquake, but Tony knew it had more to do with stressing that Tony, not he, was the big boss man, and he was just filling in. It was a touch of respect that Tony appreciated.

He also appreciated Ronny's general informality. "Morning, cowboy – have a seat. I'm just trying to track someone down …" The older man pointed to the phone he was holding against his ear. "Oh, yes, ma'am, I can hold a little longer … nope, not a problem."

Tony made himself comfortable as he watched Ronny at work. He sometimes imagined that if Billy Graham had chosen aeronautical engineering as his profession instead of theology, he might've ended up a lot like Ronny Blankenship. "Who are you trying to find?" he asked the older man, with a slight smirk to indicate that he had a good guess.

Ronny nodded. "Janine Corsi." He added a shrug.

Tony rolled his eyes. "'Meadow Soprano' is probably still parallel parking." Janine Corsi had acquired the nickname because, like Meadow, she was a lawyer and her father had been a mob boss, one of the higher-ups in the Gambino crime family. Unlike Meadow, she was in her fifties and chief counsel for one of the big New York brokerage houses. She'd been on the Stark Board for four years, and was their go-to person whenever legal difficulties came up. But she always seemed to check in at the last second, or two minutes after.

"Well, it's always a pretty girl's prerogative to run a little late," Ronny said with a sigh of resignation. (Actually, thought Tony, the phrase "pretty girl" was a bit of a stretch, as Janine looked like an undersized NFL nose tackle, but he let it pass.) "She always arrives eventua … ah, hello, Ms. Corsi … no, that's okay, we haven't started yet … yep, that'll happen … let me give you a second to hook up …"

Tony turned in his chair to the huge plasma television on the wall that served as a videoconferencing screen. It featured eleven boxes, ten of which were filled with faces – including his, Ronny's and Pepper's. He smiled at that last one – Pepper could've joined him in Ronny's space, but elected to "give you boys your privacy" and work from her top-floor office. The rest of the visages belonged to the other members of the board. A few seconds later, the one gray square was replaced with a slightly harried-looking Janine Corsi, and they were ready to go.

Tony still found most meetings less than enthralling, but he was doing his best to respect their occasional necessity. Of course, it helped that Ronny, as acting chairman, kept discussions on topic and generally treated wasted time as moments stolen from his remaining lifespan. It made things a lot easier for the impatient former and future chairman. So it was that they managed to get through the entire agenda – including a stock split proposal (which at Tony's behest was tabled until at least January, "until we've seen how my return affects matters") – in less than forty minutes.

And then, once they shut the videoconference program down and he got that call to Charles Elachi out of the way, he could relax a bit. "Still enjoying Southern California, Ronny?"

"Yeah … although Lulu's really missing the grandkids now that school's started and they're all back home. I don't mind saying, Anthony, as much as I enjoy helping you out here, I will be glad to get back to semi-retirement."

"You kidding? As strong and tanned as you look, I'm surprised Hollywood hasn't been deluging you with leading-man offers!"

Ronny laughed dryly. "When you're my age, Anthony, you'll understand that it isn't how you look, it's how you feel. And I do feel a little peaked. Two months from now, you'll be back in charge and I'll be sitting on my front porch in Georgia, watching the beautiful colors of the leaves turning." Still smiling, he pointed a finger at Tony to make his point. "And we'll both be where we're supposed to be!"

Tony knew that even if he disagreed, which he didn't, he wouldn't get anywhere arguing with Ronny once the finger came out. "Roger that."

"Things all right with you and Virginia?" Ronny never called Pepper by her nickname; he confessed that it always made him think of old football coaches.

"As far as I know. She didn't contribute a lot during the meeting, though, did she? I mean, we were discussing a lot of technical engineering stuff, which isn't her strongest suit. But still …" Tony scratched behind one ear in thought. "I'll ask her about it before the day's out. Just in case."

"Good man. Never take chances with the love of your life, that's one of my rules. Part of why Lulu and I have been together for fifty years now. That, the grace of God and two wide stubborn streaks." Ronny chuckled. "Now, let's have some fun. Got any new ideas we can pursue?"

"Oh boy, do I!" Tony took the opportunity to give him a full rundown of Project Pegasus, including the difficulties that would have to be worked through and emphasizing that it wasn't to leave the room.

Ronny, having been involved with numerous DoD projects while at Lockheed Martin, understood the secrecy aspect completely. "But is this even possible? I mean, I don't know medicine, but I know electronics – how would you get the signals to translate from nerves to wires?"

Tony shrugged. "No idea. That looks like it'll be the toughest part – translating electrochemical messages into straight electric and back again. But if it can be done … I mean, we're opening up a whole new world here. And a whole new business – I made sure to clarify with the Undersecretary that anything we develop, we get to patent."

"Well, Anthony, we've talked before about getting SI into the medical field – it's just that 'til now, the only potential product for it has been that sonic paralyzer, and we're still sorting out how it could be applied." Ronny pondered for a second. "Y'know, maybe that nerves-to-wires barrier isn't as problematic as I thought. I mean, you've got something that converts electric signals to electrochemical. Sort of. And so do I." He pointed at Tony's sternum, then gently tapped his own.

Tony pulled his head back in surprise. "You've got a pacemaker?"

"Told you I was old."

"I … I had no idea. When did this happen?"

"Mm, 'bout five years ago. And you didn't know because I didn't tell you. There is nothing more boring that some old fogey talking about his medical procedures. Besides, I hate being coddled. So I decided discretion was the better part of something or other – and kept my mouth shut. Back to the topic at hand, though … if you can use an implantable device to regulate heart contractions, why not reverse the process and use existing nerves to move a device? And pacemakers have been around since, what, 1955 or so?"

"1958," Tony muttered abstractedly. "Hmmm … I hadn't thought about it that way, but you're right. Once you figure out how to get the muscles to talk to the machines instead of vice-versa, then it's just a matter of miniaturizing the machines to work with individual nerve endings or trunks …" He trailed off, losing himself in thought again.

Ronny gave him a few seconds, then laughed and hauled out the finger again. "And _that_, Anthony, is why engineers collaborate! Iron sharpening iron and all that."

Tony couldn't help but laugh with him. The old man did have an annoying habit of being right.

The sense of collegiality thus established, Tony cracked open his laptop (Ronny already had his at the ready) and the two of them started to bury themselves up to the elbows in the minutiae of various potential Stark Industries products – arc-reactor-powered automobiles, airplanes, helicopters, launch vehicles (thank you, JPL) and even co-generation power plants; force fields to replace security fences; adaptations of SI's in-house software into open-source operating systems and business suites; even the possibility of taking the improvised device Tony had created to produce the new element he'd needed for his implant and turning it into a small (and safer) laser-guided particle accelerator for sale to university physics departments.

Lunch arrived – twin chicken Caesar salads, Ronny's choice – and they barely slowed down to eat. (Though Ronny did take a moment to kid Tony about the food – "now, don't let those things scare you, they're just fresh vegetables …") And technology talk eventually gave way to more mundane business matters: acquisitions, promotions, a deadly-boring but needed reorganization of the accounting department.

It was in the midst of the latter that Tony's PDA began to vibrate. "Good, I kind of need a break," he grunted, then looked at the caller ID. Rhodey … He hit the phone icon. "Hey, Platypus, you leave something on board my plane this morning?"

"Hi, Tony. No, I didn't. But I did just get a call from Nick Fury. He asked me to deliver an apology – probably because he knew you wouldn't let him live it down if he did it himself."

"Please – what makes him think I'll let him live it down regardless? So what's he secondhand-sorry for, exactly?"

"Let me put it this way – he has proof that you weren't behind that deal with the prison in Pakistan. 'Cause around 10 a.m. our time, it happened again."

"Really …"

"Uh-huh. This time it was near Shiraz, Iran, not too far from the Gulf. Same deal – fire falling from the sky, prison break, bunch of folks 'released on their own recognizance.' Apparently all political prisoners of one stripe or another."

"Well, as far as I'm concerned it couldn't happen to a nicer oppressive regime. Political prisoners … you don't suppose Amnesty International's gotten tired of letter-writing and decided to take things up a notch?"

Rhodey sighed his "this is serious" sigh. "Tony, the mullahs in Teheran are calling this a 'Western provocation' and are blaming the U.S. …"

"Big deal – they blame the U.S. when the weather's bad or their soccer team loses."

"State is already assuring them that we had nothing to do with this. So are the Israelis, and the Iraqis, and the Russians. But I'm asking you – as a friend – do you know who's behind this?"

"Rhodey, all cards on the table … I know nothing about this except what you and Nick have told me. It isn't me doing this, I have no clue as to who might be, and as far as I know all Stark Industries equipment that could be involved is already accounted for." Tony said the last part with some pride. It had taken him the better part of six months to find every piece of equipment Obadiah Stane had sold to people who had no business receiving it, but eventually he'd recovered or destroyed it all, down to the last microchip. "I'm as in the dark about this as you are, and probably more so than Nick. If he wants me to start researching it, I'd be happy to – his call. But at the moment, I've got nothing."

A long pause. Then, "… Okay, Tone. I'll pass that on to Nick – and he probably will want you to look in on it in your spare time …"

Tony suppressed a snort of derision. Between Project Pegasus and the ramp-up to his return to power, spare time was going to get rather scarce.

"… But if I find out you're lying …"

"I know, I know, you'll rip out my spleen and strangle me with it. Rhodey, I'm telling you the truth – I have no idea who it is or why they're doing it. Believe me, disbelieve me, it doesn't change the facts."

"Okay, but you understand I had to ask. I'll let you get back to your stuff."

They exchanged pleasantries, Tony ended the call and turned to face a trying-not-to-look-curious Ronny. "Uh … S.H.I.E.L.D. business."

"I figured," he remarked dryly. "And none of my beeswax. You know, it's getting a little late …"

That prompted Tony to check his PDA again, this time for the time. "3:30 – wow!"

"… and while this has been a lot of fun, I have a bunch of papers I want to get off this desk before the day is out. Have I mentioned I'll be glad when all of this is back on you?"

"No … no, I don't think you have," Tony said with a smirk. "Call me if you need me for anything. Otherwise, I'll be back next Tuesday." He closed up his computer, got up and let himself out.

And as luck would have it, Natalie was heading right for him. "I called Andrea Steiner – I think she took the hint. And I got the umpteenth call from Glenn Gavert at _Newsweek_, told him the same thing, got the same result."

"Well done. Although Glenn can wait until next year – priority is …"

This time it was her turn to finish the sentence. "… the business sheets, then general news mags, and the entertainment ones can sit for now." She knew the order for any post-11/8 interviews with Tony – after all, she'd come up with it. "And Elachi?"

"Gave him what he needed, he's good for tomorrow's powwow. Okay," he continued, clapping his hands together, "is there anything else I need … to … what the hell?" His head, followed by Natalie's, turned toward the front doors, where there seemed to be some sort of commotion …

Three men in blue uniforms burst through the doors, one pushing a gurney and another a cart full of equipment. They looked like emergency medical technicians.

Tony caught up quickly to the lead man, the one not stuck with any equipment. "What's going on?"

The EMT didn't seem like he wanted to talk. "Excuse me, sir, but we got a 911 call to come to Stark Industries headquarters …"

"Well, I'm Tony _Stark_," he interrupted, putting the emphasis on his last name. "Maybe I can be of assistance?"

"If you could point us toward the elevators, Mr. Stark. A woman on the tenth floor called, complaining of heart problems …"

The EMT might have said more, but Tony didn't catch it. _Tenth floor … nobody's office is up there except mine, Natalie's, and …_ "Oh shit. Follow me!"

With Natalie and the EMTs in his slipstream, Tony led them to the service elevator so all of them could go up at once, then punched in his override code to take them straight to the top. He was first out when they got there, streaking down the hall to the only office on the floor that was likely to be occupied. He flung open the door …

… and there was Pepper, lying on the floor with one hand clutching her chest and the other, her Blackberry. "Tony!" she whimpered.

Tony was kneeling beside her in an instant, taking the hand not holding the PDA. "Pep, what's wrong?"

"I don't know," she said in a voice that sounded like she was afraid of monsters under the bed. Her breath was coming in short gasps. "My heart … feels like … it's not … working right …"

"You're gonna be okay, Pepper. The paramedics are …" He was about to say "right behind me," but then they came thundering in. "… right here."

"Oh, good," she gasped. "I'm scared …"

"You're gonna be okay, I promise." He knew in his heart he couldn't guarantee that, but honesty wasn't the best policy right now. Besides, it was all he had a chance to blurt out before the professionals gently (but firmly) edged him out of the way. Before he knew it, he found himself standing next to Natalie, watching the EMTs work. "Natalie, since I doubt there'll be room for me in the ambu …"

"I just called Happy – he's on his way."

It took Tony a few seconds to absorb that. "Thank you, Radar," he replied numbly.

"You're welcome, Colonel," she riposted. Neither of them smiled.

Meanwhile, the EMTs had finished their tests and were 1-2-3ing Pepper up onto the gurney. "Tony …," she called again.

He rushed to her side and took her hand again. "I'm right here, Pep." They heard the lead EMT barking into his walkie-talkie something about "cardiac dysrhythmia, possible MI."

"Don't leave." She tried to squeeze his hand, but didn't have the strength.

"Pep, I don't think there'll be room in the ambulance for me, but Happy's coming and we'll be right behind you. Hang in there, you're gonna be okay." He hated that he couldn't come up with anything better to say.

And before he could, the EMTs were taking Pepper away, after letting Tony and Natalie know that she would be taken to the cardiac unit at Cedars-Sinai. The whole group went with her to the ambulance, saw her in and watched from the sidewalk as it drove off.

Tony could barely breathe himself as the emergency vehicle disappeared around the corner and out of sight. "Natalie, can you hold the fort here, let Ronny and everyone else know what's going on?" He could hear the emptiness in his voice, feel the stiffness of his blank expression.

Natalie, though, didn't sound any better. "No problem, sir." Just then, Happy pulled up in one of Tony's faster Audis, stopped, threw on the brake and hopped from the driver to the passenger seat. "Call when you know what's happening?"

"Will do." He threw open the car door, jumped into the driver's seat and peeled out to catch up with the ambulance.


	4. Chapter 4

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 4: New Discoveries

For all general disclaimers, see the start of chapter 1. But let me add an extra one: I am neither a doctor, nor an engineer, nor a physicist, so I can't vouch for all of the medical or scientific ideas in this story. I do the best I can to get things right, but I suspect some of the science will be as unlikely as … well, as some of the science in the _Iron Man_ films. If you find a gross error – one that totally screws up the plot and just HAS to be fixed – feel free to let me know and I'll try to repair the damage.

A belated Thank You to everyone who has reviewed or favorited (is that a word? well, it is now) this story. Feedback is the lifeblood of any writer, and positive feedback is like a shot of creatine with a Red Bull chaser – not just lifeblood, but life-affirming. So THANKS!

And now, on to the hospital …

* * *

For Tony, the next sixteen hours or so passed in a haze, periodically interrupted. He was used to spending an occasional evening and morning that way … but in all previous times, alcohol was involved.

This time, he was bombed on fear. Fear and frustration.

The first part hadn't been so bad – getting to the hospital, holding Pepper's hand, helping take care of the stupid paperwork (though mostly that had involved pumping either Pepper or – via his PDA – JARVIS for information; _he_ didn't know this stuff!), and watching her slowly get her breath and color back. He was too busy to really feel much. But then they took her away for tests, and there was nothing more he could do for her except sit in the waiting room, and wait. Not his strong suit.

At least he was able to use up a few minutes calling Natalie, then Rhodey, and filling them in, but there wasn't much to fill them in with. The doctors were still looking into it, she appeared to be stabilizing, no diagnosis yet, blah blah blah. Natalie said she'd take care of informing Ronny and reaching any emergency contacts Pepper had on file. Rhodey had almost nothing to say; he was more or less in shock.

And after a while, Tony wished he was. Instead he was stuck sitting there, physically unable to help, emotionally unable to leave, mentally unable to concentrate on anything but worrying.

Not that he didn't try. He popped open his laptop and attempted to churn out a few ideas for Project Pegasus, tinkering with what materials could work for the linkups to Adele Carey's existing nervous system. But pondering potential solutions to one medical crisis didn't exactly take his mind off another one – quite the opposite.

Still, it made for an interesting bit of kismet when his PDA rang, and he saw that it was Undersecretary Flournoy. "Mr. Stark, I wanted to check in and see how your assistant is doing. I just heard what happened."

"Huh. News travels fast."

"Well, you know how the grapevine works here in Washington. I found out less than ten minutes ago from Secretary Gates, who was told by General Meade, who …"

"… must've gotten it from Colonel Rhodes," Tony finished for her, then gave her a rundown of what little info he had. "So that's where it stands until the docs find what they're looking for."

"Okay. That's pretty much the information I received. I understand this will probably cause some delays in your work on Project Pegasus – and that's fine. I don't want you to feel pressured on that score."

"Actually, I've been chipping at it while waiting, to try and take my mind off … but yeah, I figure I'm not doing my best work right now."

"Well, take the time you need to take, and let me know as things develop. But for now, I know you have something else to focus on."

_As if I could focus at all_, he didn't say. "Thanks for understanding, Madame Undersecretary."

"And … the President said to let you know that he and Michelle will be praying for Ms. Potts."

Even as numb as he felt, that still sent his eyebrows up. "Uh … well, be sure to thank him for me ..."

"I will. You take care." And with that, she hung up.

Leaving Tony to cogitate on her last statement. He'd always felt uncomfortable around the visibly religious, long before certain militant Muslims had ever tried to kill him with his own weaponry. And he'd always figured that asking a Higher Power for help in tough times while ignoring He/She/It when things were going well was more than a little disingenuous. Still … when the Leader of the Free World says he's going to pray for your girlfriend to get better, that's bound to grab your attention. Heck, the fact that he'd been informed and actually gave a damn was worth a lot.

He was still thinking about that a half-hour later when he got another call, from someone who _hadn't_ been informed. "Hi, Nick. You just got the news?"

A short pause, and then … "Damn it, Tony, I've got Congressmen from here to breakfast trying to climb up my ass thinking you decided to attack Iran all by your lonesome, and I'm having to fill them in one at a time like so many damn gopher holes. When have I got time to follow the news? And I can't even give you a proper beating because it wasn't you! So unless you know who the hell is playing PETA-on-Thanksgiving with prisoners in the Middle East and ruining my perfectly good Tuesday, ask yourself if I really need to hear this news, or you just need to tell it!"

Egads, sometimes Tony wanted to put on his gauntlet and bury it in Nick Fury's face. But this time, he had something harder to hit him with. "Pepper's at Cedars-Sinai. Heart attack."

"What?" And then Nick's swearing _really_ got inventive, but in surprise rather than anger. Finally he wound down enough to say, more calmly than before, "Well, you've got that business to attend to. I was just calling to let you know that finding out _whoever_ is pulling these prison-break stunts is officially a S.H.I.E.L.D. matter, as per the Secretary of Homeland Security. Code-name 'Prometheus.'"

First Pegasus, now Prometheus. Greek mythology sure seemed to be clogging up his life. And not necessarily the right Greek mythology – where was _Asclepius_ when you needed him? "So you want me to research it?"

"When you have the time – I understand it won't be your Priority One right now, but we could use your input. I'll send what info we have via JARVIS; let me know when you receive it. Now you tell that young lady we're standing with her – after all these years dealing with you, she deserves a lucky break." And to make sure he had the last word on _that_, Nick clicked off.

"You're welcome," Tony muttered to the dial tone before putting the PDA away. Sometimes he wondered if Nick was in his life as a punishment for previous actions. It was a hypothesis, at least. He looked at his watch – 8:30 by now, but it felt later – and closed his eyes to postpone the headache he felt coming on …

… only to feel someone shaking his shoulder. "Wha! I wasn't aslee … wait, maybe I was."

A young woman in doctor's whites smiled at him. "You were, sir."

"Ah." He blinked to clear his vision. The doctor couldn't have been more than thirty, and would probably have been beautiful were it not for a truly majestic hooked nose. Actually, he mused, she was still beautiful, beak and all. "How long was I – whoa." His watch read just after 11 p.m. "That wasn't intentional."

"People react to stress in different ways," she said with a shrug, then sat down across from him. "I'm Dr. Faisal, one of the cardiologists here. I'm in charge of Ms. Potts' case." She extended a hand.

He reached over and shook it. "Tony Stark. I'm Ms. Potts' … boyfriend. Employer. Cross to bear. I wear a lot of hats."

Dr. Faisal's smile widened. "I thought I'd recognized you, Mr. Stark! I … well, now is not the time for me to be a fangirl. You're probably wondering about Ms. Potts' condition."

Tony made no effort to hide his concern. "Yes, how's she doing? What happened? Can I see her?"

"Let me answer the second question first. How familiar are you with medical terminology?"

"Well, my training's in engineering and electronics, but I've had some heart problems of my own over the years." His implanted arc reactor wasn't quite a secret, but he didn't feel the need to go into it with strangers. More to the point, he wanted the information, now. "Tell you what, just fire away and I'll ask if I don't understand something."

"Fair enough." She pulled out a detailed diagram of a human heart. "We did a CT scan of her heart and found a constriction of one branch of her left coronary artery, right about here." She pointed to the spot on the picture with her pen. "What we believe happened was that a small blood clot got temporarily stuck at that point, mostly but not totally occluding the artery. We didn't find the clot itself - apparently it worked loose after awhile – but it still seems like the most likely cause."

"So there's a, a bottleneck in the actual material of the artery, and it got plugged?"

"Partially plugged, but yes. It was actually a fairly mild heart attack – as heart attacks go."

"So what could cause the bottleneck?"

"It's a congenital condition. Most likely she inherited it from one of her parents. Her medical records say she was adopted – do you know if either of her birth parents had heart problems?"

Tony shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about them." He recalled that a few years ago, she mentioned she was researching her biological parents, but she never said what if anything she'd found. And, truth be told, he'd been too self-absorbed to ask …

Dr. Faisal nodded in understanding. "When I left her a few minutes ago, she was asleep and appeared to be getting her strength back. She will need surgery to widen that portion of the artery, preferably as soon as possible. We'll talk to her tomorrow to schedule it. But right now, she should be out of danger, and we have her on Coumadin, a blood thinner, to make sure she stays that way. If there are no further complications, she could go home as early as tomorrow evening."

"That's good news! I … don't suppose I could see her …"

The doctor shook her head. "I'm afraid visiting hours are long past except for relatives. Besides, we'd like her to get as much rest as possible. You may want to go home and get some yourself," she added with a smile.

"Yeah, I probably should," Tony replied. Happy had left the car there and taken a cab back, so he could go where he liked. But the thought of being back in that mansion, alone, didn't seem all that appealing.

"Well, I'm off shift – I knew you were waiting, and I wanted to fill you in before I left."

"I appreciate that. Thank you." He tried to smile at her, succeeding only partially.

"No problem. And thank _you_, Mr. Stark."

Tony's brow furrowed. "For what?"

The doctor smiled wryly. "My parents came here from Kuwait in 1992, not long after the U.S. Army drove out Saddam Hussein. I've kept tabs on your … your 'work' in the Middle East. I really appreciate what you've done to get rid of some of the worst elements in the region."

"Well … my pleasure," he remarked. He was too emotionally exhausted to say much more.

"Good night, Mr. Stark." Dr. Faisal headed for home.

* * *

But Tony didn't. Or couldn't. Instead he split his time between fretting over Pepper, jotting ideas for Project Pegasus, raiding the vending machines next to the closed cafeteria – good thing he had a few dollars' cash on him, for once – and trying (mostly failing) to sleep. He did finally doze off again around 5:30 a.m., with plans to be the first, aside from hospital staff, to greet Pepper when she woke up.

But when he roused a couple of hours later, he found he'd have to settle for second. Sitting in a chair next to Pepper's bed was an Asian woman with a heart-shaped face. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, though that could be hard to judge. They were having an animated discussion, but were both so quiet that he wasn't sure what it was about.

Pepper was the first to spot him leaning against the doorjamb. "Oh! Uh, hi, Tony."

"You know … if you'd just wanted a day off …"

Pepper smiled. "If I'd j just wanted a day off, Tony, I would've filled out the form. Dealing with HR is far less stressful. On the other hand … I could get used to being waited on hand and foot."

Tony shook his head. "Better to go to a day spa – they don't insist on checking your vitals every few hours."

"True. I'm … I'm sorry if I frightened you."

He tried to be flip about it. "Hey, I figured you were more freaked than I was. Let it pass." They both chuckled nervously, then stopped to just look at each other ...

And were interrupted by some delicate throat-clearing. "Oops, sorry," Pepper said, blushing. "Tony, this is my friend Sue Kim. Sue, Tony Stark.

Sue extended a hand. "Pleased to finally meet you, Tony." Tony didn't think she sounded all that pleased. "Ginnie talks a lot about you."

_Ginnie?_ "Some of it good, I hope," he replied with a milder version of the Stark smirk.

A frown flashed across Sue's face before being supplanted by a too-professional smile. "Almost all of it, actually."

There was a tension in the room that Tony didn't understand. If Pepper's reports on him had been generally positive, why did he sense an underlying hostility from her friend? He knew he hadn't dated Sue at any point – she had a beautiful face, one he'd remember no matter how many drinks he'd had. Was she bothered by some of the tabloid reports about him? Or was there something else …

Pepper broke the awkward silence. "Tony, Sue has to head over to the studio in a few minutes …"

"Studio? You're a musician?" Tony interjected.

"Actress. I work at Paramount."

Pepper reasserted herself. "… so, um, do you mind if we wrap up? I'll have all the time you need after …"

"Oh, no problem," Tony assured her, and swore he could feel the room temperature rise again. "I'll just come back in … ten minutes?"

"Perfect! I feel bad for putting you off …"

"No, don't worry about it – I don't want to keep you from your friends … much." That got a smile and chuckle from Pepper, and stone silence from Sue. The latter was probably his cue, he thought. "Back in ten, Pep."

"See you then."

Tony turned and walked away, shaking his head. What had all _that_ been about? He was used to getting cold shoulders on occasion, but usually he could think of something he'd done or said that might've caused it. He'd never met Sue Kim before, and she had been decidedly unwelcoming. Weird.

Halfway down the corridor, he turned to look back. Pepper's room was right near a corner, situated so that from the hallway he could see her through the open door. And there was something odd, yet familiar, about how Pepper and Sue were interacting, how they were looking at each other …

Then he saw Sue take Pepper's hand. And the way she did it, the way she held it, caused a tumbler to click in Tony's mind. _No …_

He didn't want to think it. Didn't want to think about thinking it. But at some deep level, he _knew_.

He turned away, still trying to process it, when he saw a nurse approaching and made a quick decision. "Excuse me."

The nurse, a tiny Hispanic woman, recognized him immediately. "Tony Stark! How can I help you?"

"Um, when you have a chance, could you give a message to Ms. Potts in room 417? Tell her I'm sorry, but something came up and I had to leave. She's supposed to be discharged this evening, so I should be able to pick her up then, but I need to duck out right now …"

"Oh, I understand, Mr. Stark! You've got to run that big company, and fight the forces of evil …" She swept her fist around to punctuate the last part.

He felt the urge to flee growing by the second. "So could you give her that message? When you have the chance …"

"No problem, Mr. Stark, no problem at all!" she replied enthusiastically.

Tony thanked her and headed for the elevators. When he got home, he told himself, he'd go down to his basement lab, have JARVIS hold his calls for the next several hours, and throw himself into Project Pegasus. And hope that he was wrong about what he thought he'd seen between Pepper and her friend. Because if he was right …

If he was right … he had no idea what to do.


	5. Chapter 5

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 5: Needed Clarifications

For all disclaimers, see the beginnings of chapters 1 and 4. Now, as I said to one reader after the end of the _last_ chapter, watch me pull a rabbit out of this hat …

* * *

The call from the hospital came just after 6 p.m., and by 7:30 Tony had a newly discharged Pepper in the passenger seat of his Audi R8 and was headed away from Cedars-Sinai. "So … how you feeling?"

"Pretty much normal. Maybe a little tired – hospitals are a good place to rest, but not to get a good night's sleep."

"Mm," Tony replied sympathetically, if with unusual brevity. He still hadn't figured out how to bring up Sue Kim without being nasty about it. Now that he wasn't burying himself in Project Pegasus, as he had for most of the day, finding the right words was occupying his mind too much to allow for small talk. Thankfully, Pepper was tired enough that she wasn't pressing him for conversation, and the trip back to Malibu was accomplished largely in silence.

When they got there, it was already dark. Tony, feeling the need for extra sustenance, headed for the bar in the living room. "You want anything?"

Pepper flopped onto the couch. "Oh, I wish."

Tony's brow furrowed as he picked up a lowball glass and dropped a single ice cube into it. "Pardon?"

She shook her head. "Dr. Faisal says no booze from now until after the surgery. Alcohol's a natural blood thinner - doesn't react well with the Coumadin."

"Sorry – hadn't thought of that." He filled the glass with Johnnie Walker Gold Label, then had second thoughts. "You don't mind if I …"

"No, no, go ahead – no reason both of us should suffer. Bring me a ginger ale?"

"Will do." He grabbed a bottle of Canada Dry from the built-in fridge and brought both drinks to the couch.

Pepper took the soft drink from him and sighed. "I'm just glad I only have to wait a few weeks before surgery. But until then … no martinis. No caffeine. No green leafy vegetables, like spinach – they mess with the Coumadin too. No strenuous exercise. And …" She turned her head to look at Tony. "… no sex. Sorry."

"No, that makes sense. Y'know, heart trouble and all ..."

"Thanks for being understanding, Tony. Still … that last one. I've gotten spoiled – by the time I go back for the surgery, I'll probably be climbing the walls."

It came out before Tony had a chance to think about it. "As will Sue, no doubt." He took a sip of his whiskey, realized what he'd just said, and almost choked on it. _Not smooth, Stark …_ "Wait, belay that – I shouldn't have …"

And then he caught the look on Pepper's face: pale shock. "How …?"

So he had been right, much as he'd hoped he wasn't. It occurred to him that he should feel angry, but he wasn't. He just felt hurt, betrayed. "In the hospital … I saw the way … you two were looking at each other, and …" He ran out of words, and found himself staring into his glass.

Pepper's voice was a whisper. "Tony … there's nothing going on between me and Sue an—" She cut herself off abruptly.

Tony looked up again to find Pepper chewing on her lower lip. "'An …'?"

Pepper sighed heavily and looked out the window at the ocean. "Anymore."

Tony knew he had a choice to make. He could indulge his ego, blow up at her over this, bring down the fragile structure of relationship they had spent the last several months – heck, the last several _years_ – building. It was tempting; he liked indulging his ego very much. But this time … this time, it didn't seem all that palatable.

So he made a different choice, laying his free hand gently on hers. "Pep?"

She swallowed hard. "Y-yes, Tony?"

He tried for a smile, came close to succeeding. "Why don't you just tell me the truth?"

Pepper couldn't help but smile, even though tears were welling up. "Okay. Okay." She set down her drink, then used the back of her hand to wipe her eyes. "Okay. This goes back to when you were in Afghanistan. Obie was running the company, keeping most of us – me, the board, you name it – pretty much in the dark about _how_ he was running it. Anyway, he didn't much like the … ceremonial aspects of being head of Stark Industries. You know how he was."

Tony nodded, rolled his eyes. "Yeah. Getting him to go to a charity event was usually like pulling teeth."

"Which is why I got dispatched to the Oxfam America fundraiser over at UCLA."

Tony nodded again; Stark Industries had been a big giver to Oxfam since his father's days.

"And … hell, it's a cliché – 'we saw each other across a crowded room.'" She rolled her eyes. "But that's actually how it happened. Have you ever had a situation where you run into someone for the first time and you know, just _know_, that you're going to be good friends?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Have I told you how Rhodey and I met? I'm sure I must've …"

Pepper thought for a second. "Tequila Sunrises."

"Okay, I did tell you … sorry, I should let you finish."

"No problem. Anyway … she was there as the guest of some minor Hollywood player who just had her around for arm candy. And who by then had abandoned her to go make some sort of deal. We started talking, and talking, and talking … and the next thing we now, it's 1 a.m. and they're throwing us out of the building so they can close! We ended up going to an all-night coffee shop and talking for another two hours before we finally called it a night.

"Well, after that we'd call each other every few days just to gab, occasionally go out to get a bite after we were both off work. And then … then things got _really_ stressful. They found you in Afghanistan, and Obie started getting a little weird. You came back, began doing the Iron Man thing and Obie …" She paused for a moment, moving her hand around as if trying to stir up the proper phrase.

"Started getting _really_ weird," Tony volunteered.

Pepper nodded. "And then he came after you and you had your big battle – and first I thought _I_ was going to get killed, then I was worried I'd killed _you_ … and the next day, I was just trying to hold it all together, thinking I was inches away from a nervous breakdown, just wishing the whole mess would all be wrapped up in a nice neat bow …" She stopped and tried to catch her breath.

"You know, I wasn't trying to put you through the wringer, Pep …"

"You weren't trying not to," she grumbled.

Tony opened his mouth to answer … and shut it again. He didn't have an adequate response – in fact, maybe there wasn't one.

"Then the press conference … I don't even remember what I did the rest of the day at work. Sue came home from the movie studio around 8:30 and found me sitting on the doormat in front of her apartment." Pepper shrugged. "I just … needed someone to talk to before I came apart."

Tony nodded silently, knowing anything he said at this point would sound either stupid, callous or both.

"Well, three or four glasses of Zinfandel later, I'm lying on her couch with my head in her lap, all cried out, all vented out. She's got KTLA's News at 10 on, and we're watching the report of the press conference – lead story, naturally." She punctuated that with another eye roll. "And Sue said she admired the way you'd handled it."

These emotional hairpin turns were starting to give Tony a headache. "She … she did?"

"Oh yeah. She talked about how you didn't pretend, you didn't B.S., you just told the truth and got in front of the situation. She said it was … oh, what was the phrase? … a 'textbook example of how to defuse a scandal.' And then she looked down at me and said, 'you really love him, don't you?' And I said, 'yeah, I do.'"

Tony tried to _suppress_ his smile this time, and failed. He wondered if he was blushing.

Pepper smiled too, but more ruefully. "Then she asked me, 'but do you want him?' And … and I said I did and I didn't. That I was scared of you."

That wiped the smile off his face. "Scared of me?"

Pepper nodded, biting her lower lip again. "Partly I was worried I'd just be the latest in the long line of conquests …"

"Not. A. Chance."

She went on without responding. "Partly I was worried you'd fly that suit into one war zone too many and never come back." A deep breath. "And mostly I was worried that I'd just … disappear, that I'd be overwhelmed by the Tony Stark presence and … and I'd lose … myself. I mean, face it, Tony – you do tend to suck all the oxygen out of the room sometimes." She chuckled nervously.

Now he _knew_ he was blushing …

"And then … I remember her just staring at me. And she asked me if I loved her … and I said yes. And then she asked if I wanted her, and … I mean, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind, I didn't know what to do … but I heard myself saying yes. It was just surreal." Pepper shook her head, shrugged. "And one thing led to another," she concluded.

Tony needed a minute to assimilate it all before he spoke. And then even _as_ he spoke, he found he had second thoughts. "So ... no, I'm not even going to ask that."

"Well, how about I answer it anyway? It was … awkward."

Tony did his level best to keep from gaping like a slapstick comedian. "Uh … really. And how did you know what I'd ask?"

Pepper rolled her eyes briefly. "Because at last check, you're a man. Besides, I've known you for over a decade. And yes, it really was awkward. I'd never been with another woman before, she had maybe one time, neither of us knew what we were doing … I think we spent more time laughing at our own ineptitude than anything else. And it was okay, because … because I'd found that with her I didn't have to be in control. I didn't have to have everything organized just so. I didn't have to worry about being too strong or too weak, blunt or polite …" She shrugged again. "… straight or gay, I suppose. I could drop all the labels I had to wear in public and just be Virginia Potts, human being. Our friendship was a safe place – at a time when I desperately needed one." She took a sip from her bottle and stared out over the ocean.

"Sounds … ideal," Tony said after a while. "I had no idea this was going on."

"Well, we weren't exactly publicizing it. Both of us had our careers to consider – as liberal as Hollywood can be, it still would have cost her roles. And as far as the defense industry …"

"Yeah, say no more." Tony knew how conservative most defense contractors were, not to mention the Pentagon. A rumor that one of Stark's top execs was in a same-sex relationship would not have been greeted warmly in some quarters.

"Besides, I think we both liked the idea of having 'our little secret.' Such as it was – it was more like friends-with-benefits than a real romance. Limited benefits, too; both of us worked such long hours, we were lucky to see each other once or twice a week. Plus, frankly … the sex _never_ totally stopped being awkward for me." Pepper sighed, then chuckled. "Some of us just aren't cut out to be lesbians."

That made Tony suppress a laugh. "So much for the old saw about how a woman knows best how to please a woman …"

"Oh, Tony, don't believe everything you read in _Penthouse_," she replied dismissively. "But anyway, that's what was going on until a little over four months ago."

"Oh … what happened then?"

Pepper's head shot up, and she aimed an incredulous look at Tony. "What happened? _You_ happened! That kiss on the roof after you saved my life _happened_! Me finally getting tired of being afraid and deciding to roll the dice … happened." She ran out of steam for a second, then added, "Funny thing was, Sue knew things had changed before I even told her."

"How so?"

Pepper grimaced slightly. "I called her the next day, and … she said she'd known for weeks the day was coming. Said she had just tried to enjoy the time we had until I finally chose you and … let her go. Though I don't know that _she's_ completely let go yet. That was part of our conversation this morning – she's been busy on some Vietnam War film, and I think she was just a little stressed, maybe a little lonely. I had to reiterate that, while I still wanted to be her friend, anything beyond that – anything physical – was over." She took a deep breath. "I hope my telling you this didn't hurt you. I never meant …"

"No, it's, it's okay." And, Tony realized as he said it, it really was. "If it were still going on, yeah, I'd be pretty pissed. But if you say it's over, it's over." Tony took a slug of what was now whiskey and water, the ice having long since melted. "Besides, I don't have any moral high ground to criticize someone else for sleeping with an actress, right?"

That made Pepper laugh out loud. "That is a point. You did have quite a parade of them!"

Tony smiled and nodded, then turned thoughtful. "You know, it took me a while before I realized why I was doing it."

Pepper looked at him, confused. "You mean, besides having a libido the size of …"

"Yes, besides that," Tony quickly interrupted.

She shook her head, her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure where you're going with this."

"Okay, let me see if I can give you a hint. Picture in your mind the women you saw me with for … say, the five years before Afghanistan." Gulmira seemed a reasonable marker, since his dating life between his return from captivity and the rooftop kiss with Pepper had been zero. "Okay, you got that? Now, describe to me what the average woman in that group is like."

"I don't know that any of them were average. _Below_ average, some of them …"

"C'mon, keep the claws sheathed. Just give me a composite sketch."

Pepper liked mental puzzles, and while this one was stranger than most, she figured she could make a run at it. "Hmmm … let's see, she'd be fairly tall, maybe five-eight or five-nine. Thin – ectomorphic rather than endomorphic. Probably a B-cup?" She looked questioningly at Tony, who motioned for her to keep going. "Blonde or redhead … split the difference, call it strawberry blonde. Age, early to mid-thirties. A professional, maybe not hugely successful, but someone with a career. Unattached – I may not have appreciated your lifestyle sometimes, but I'll give you credit, you've never chased after married women. Um … and most likely pretty smart; you don't have patience with airheads." She shrugged. "That's all that comes to mind ..."

"Sounds right. Now … who have you just described?"

"What do you mean, who have I just described? You told me … to …" Pepper's voice faded, and her face took on the look of someone busily rearranging the furniture in her brain.

"And the coin drops in the slot," Tony added softly.

After a minute Pepper shook her head and whispered, "I … had no idea." She turned to look Tony in the eyes. "All that time, I thought you were the most incorrigible Don Juan I'd ever known. And you're telling me that … that the whole time you were …"

"Like I said, it was a while before I realized _why_ I was choosing the women I was choosing. But … I kept asking you, and you kept turning me down, and … so I kept looking. I was just trying to find …" Tony made a plosive sound and threw his hands out in lieu of the words he couldn't find.

"… a 'Pepper substitute'?"

Tony smiled, then frowned, then smiled again. "Well … yes. But I never could. No one else was even close."

"Well …" It was a while before she said anything further – or perhaps, was able to say anything further. Then she gave him a look of pure gratitiude. "Thank you for being so … so good about all of this … the whole Sue thing. A lot of guys would freak out."

Tony shrugged, then moved closer. "I'm not 'a lot of guys.' Besides, after years of waiting and hoping, I _really_ don't want to screw this up." He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.

"You missed," Pepper replied, and kissed him on the lips. "I _can_ still do that for the time being."

"Just … being careful."

Pepper leaned her head against his shoulder, but her look was almost scornful. "Yeahhh," she responded sarcastically. "Tony Stark has gotten where he has by being _careful_ all these years."

That made them both laugh, until Tony sighed in relief. "Virginia, I don't deserve you."

"And don't you forget it, bub," Pepper replied, poking a finger at his arc reactor. "So … what did you do all day – besides stewing about me and Sue, I mean?"

"Actually, I was trying to avoid thinking about that. Most of the day I spent stewing about Project Pegasus. Or about Prometheus."

"Prometheus? What's that – some other government project?"

Tony's brow furrowed. "Kind of. I didn't tell you about Prometheus? I'm getting forgetful – I swore I had."

"Well, the last few days have been rather hectic …"

They had at that, Tony mused. He'd had the conversations with Nick, and then the Pegasus team, just over two days ago, but it felt like weeks. "Eh, you've got S.H.I.E.L.D. security clearance through me, so …" He gave her a brief sketch of what he knew about the mysterious prison-breaking vigilante, ending with, "Nick is supposed to be sending what they have via JARVIS, but it hadn't arrived when I left to pick you up. Hey, JARVIS, anything show up?"

The clipped British voice sounded from the ceiling. "Nothing from Mr. Fury as yet, Mr. Stark. However, if I may commend you on your enlightened attitude toward Ms. Potts' …"

"No, you may not. Take a break until I call you again, all right?"

"As you wish, Mr. Stark. I think I'll go fact-check Wikipedia ..." Nothing further was heard.

"So you have no idea who's doing this?" Pepper asked, steering the conversation back to Prometheus.

"Not even a guess. He's obviously working out of South or Central Asia, he's got a thing for political prisoners, and he rains fire down from the sky. Sound like anyone you know? Besides me?"

Pepper shook her head. "And except for the trip to D.C., you've been here in the L.A. Basin." Suddenly her head jerked up. "You don't suppose it's Rhodey, do you? He does have that old suit of yours …"

"No, no – his whereabouts are even better verified than mine, and I don't think he's been out of the country since our little jaunt south of the border, let alone taking trips to Asia. I'm guessing this is somebody new. But until I can look into it more, all I've got are guesses. I'd rather work on Lieutenant Carey's replacement parts – all least there I've got something concrete to deal with."

"It's coming along?"

"Slowly. I'm running into real trouble with the neural interfaces – I don't want to mess up what's left of her nervous system with the hookups."

"Yeah, how could that be managed? I try to picture it, and I keep seeing nerve endings being plugged into sockets …" She shook her head slightly, then realized Tony had stopped breathing and pulled away. "Ohhhh …"

Tony blinked, inhaled. "What?"

"You got The Look."

"I did? Wait, what look?"

"The one you get when a big idea comes together in your head. You stop breathing, and your eyes start tracking independently. It's like you're having a seizure, but without the muscle spasms. Used to scare me senseless, until I figured out you were having a 'white light vision.'"

Tony smiled at the reference to how one of his heroes, Nikola Tesla, described his revelations. "Huh. I ought to make sure I'm facing a mirror next time. But you're right, it did come together – and thank you." He kissed her again, his aim right on target this time.

Afterward, it was Pepper who had to catch her breath. "For what?"

"The socket idea." Tony brought his arm back from around her so he could illustrate with his hands. "I was thinking more in terms of shielded wiring, but a socket setup would be less invasive - and easier to produce. I just have to design the sockets suitably small – that's one of my worries, I don't want to make the replacements any heavier than the originals would be. But if I can miniaturize them enough –"

"And they'd have to be pretty small, considering the size of what's being hooked up to them," Pepper added.

Tony's grin widened to galactic size. "You still tired?"

"Actually … feeling pretty good right now. Why, what did you have in mind?"

"_Work_." Tony rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. "You may not call yourself an engineer, but it looks like hanging around with them has rubbed off on you. If you don't mind me picking your brain …?"

Pepper shrugged and smiled. "I've never objected before, have I? As long as you're willing to cope with an amateur's contribution … let's collaborate!"

"Hey, an amateur built the Ark – professionals built the _Titanic_." Tony stood up and offered Pepper a hand to do likewise. "All right. I'll get JARVIS ready, you order a pizza – no spinach. To the lab!" And off they went.


	6. Chapter 6

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 6: Things Start Moving

For all disclaimers, excuses and general fudging, see the beginnings of chapters 1 and 4. Credit where it's due, though: the "cranky and irritable" joke is adapted from an exchange in the British sitcom _Chef_, which is worth checking out if you haven't seen it.

* * *

Tony heard Pepper stirring behind him as he continued to tap at the pen tablet of his computer.

"JARVIS … what time is it?"

"6:22 a.m., Miss Potts," the voice answered from the ceiling.

"Nghhhh … thx …"

Tony couldn't help but grin. "Good morning," he called over his shoulder. "Breakfast's ready if you want some."

"Mmmph," Pepper replied as she slowly sat up on the bench in Tony's basement lab. Then she bolted upright with an almost audible click. "Wait … you _cooked_ breakfast?" There was alarm in her voice as she recalled the "omelet" disaster from a few months earlier.

"I wouldn't say 'cooked' …" Tony pointed toward the blender at the far right corner of his desk, which was half-full of something pinkish-orange, and the glass next to it. "But if it'll set your mind at ease, no one I know has ever died of peach smoothie poisoning."

"Thanks, Tony." Pepper tottered over on bare feet, poured herself a glassful and took a long sip. "Mmmm … this is really good. What's in it?"

Tony didn't pause from his work. "Oh, you know … peaches, of course. Yogurt, protein powder, milk, ice, honey. The usual. You can add vodka for parties, but that struck me as being a little much this early in the morning."

Pepper took another taste. "Kind of a grainy texture, though."

"Only wimps peel the peaches beforehand. Gotta have your fiber." Tony picked up his own glass. "You wouldn't mind getting me seconds, would you?"

"No problem." Pepper took the glass and refilled it from the blender. "So ... progress?"

"Very much so. At the rate this is going, I may have the hardware design done and be able to start on the software before the day's out. Once I was able to figure out the neural connectors – thank you again –"

"You're welcome again."

"— the rest came together fairly logically. Aesthetics are going to be tough, but if I build the outer shell out of graphite composite, like what they use for golf club shafts, I can make it no heavier than her actual leg." Tony stopped momentarily, tapping the stylus of his computer against his chin. "Still, I feel like … like I forgot something …" He set down the stylus and went to the keyboard.

Pepper looked at the tablet, then her head came up. "Tony? Did you get any sleep at all last night?"

Tony snapped his fingers. "_That's_ what I forgot! Damn … I'll probably be cranky and irritable before the end of the day."

"Don't worry." Pepper gave him a kiss on top of his head. "I'm sure no one will notice the difference."

"You wound me, Madame," Tony replied dryly.

"Well, I need a shower and a change of clothes." Pepper finished off her smoothie. "You want anything while I'm upstairs?"

Tony thought for a second. "Espresso would be nice. Last time I tried to use that machine, I almost dismantled it."

"I'll hunt you down the manual while I'm at it," Pepper said with a bemused smile.

"And could you call Nick and ask him what the delay is with the file on Prometheus? For something he said was urgent, he's sure taking his own sweet time about it."

JARVIS's voice chimed in. "The e-mail from Mr. Fury arrived in your inbox less than 30 seconds ago, sir."

"Well, then. Uh ... call Natalie and have her come over this afternoon, say three-ish? This is a S.H.I.E.L.D. matter, and let's face it, the fastest way to get word back to Nick is through her."

"Am I invited too?" Pepper asked, half-jokingly.

Tony took it at face value. "Absolutely. Enjoy your shower." And once more the rest of the world vanished for him, as he immersed himself in Pegasus. Pepper just smiled, shook her head and went up the stairs.

* * *

Other than to wolf down a sandwich and a cola around noon, Tony didn't pull away from the computer until mid-afternoon, when he felt a metallic tap on his shoulder. "Hmm?" He turned around to find Dummy sitting there. "Not right now, I'm in the middle of something …"

Instead of rolling away, Dummy pointed across the room, where Natalie and Pepper were standing. Pepper caught Tony's eye and pointed at her watch.

Tony stopped, stunned, then turned to his monitor where the time clearly read 15:02. "Oh. Thanks, Dummy. Why don't you go help yourself to some 9-volts?" He patted the robot on its articulator arm, and it rolled away as Tony pulled out a couple of chairs. "Ladies? Time to see what gifts jolly old Saint Nick left under the tree."

"Don't expect much," Natalie replied as she sat.

And she was right. The e-mail attachment, once decrypted, contained only about twenty pages of transcripts from eyewitness accounts of the two prison breaks. No pictures were included, let alone video. And the testimonies didn't mention much that Tony hadn't already heard. "That's it?" he eventually mused.

"We're depending on the Pakistani and Iranian authorities for the information," Natalie remarked gloomily. "Prying it loose from Islamabad has been like pulling teeth, apparently. And Teheran's even worse – I heard the State Department rep was reduced to shouting "do you want us to find this guy or not?" at his Iranian counterpart. But they are working on getting more."

Tony sighed. "So to get good intel quickly, we need whoever this is to attack a friend of the U.S.?"

"And here I thought Pakistan _was_ a friend of the U.S.," Pepper piped in.

Tony and Natalie both shook their heads. "Pakistan is an _ally_ of the U.S.," Tony elaborated. "Not quite the same thing. A friend will support you most or all of the time; an ally will only go with you when your interests and theirs are the same. Think of the Soviets during World War II."

"Okay, I get it. But this … _lack_ of information is disappointing."

"Well, it gives us at least one clue."

Natalie looked at Tony. "What are you seeing?"

Tony pointed to the screen. "This guy says that when he saw the 'ball of fire' depart, it was like watching 'a plane taking off or an eagle soaring away.' Whoever it is, they're traveling at subsonic speed. If our mystery person had supersonic capability, it would look to someone on the ground like they'd disappeared. But a lifting airplane or an eagle … you can follow that with your eyes. That tells me Prometheus isn't going that fast – half the speed of sound at most."

"So someone could catch this person in a fighter jet," Pepper said.

"Or a big red suit," Natalie added.

"Any color suit," Tony replied, thinking of Rhodey's black model. "If, that is, we actually want him caught …"

Natalie looked puzzled. "You're implying we might _not_ want that?"

"You kidding? This man – or woman – is going into countries with oppressive regimes and freeing political prisoners. The human rights organizations are gonna love it. Does the U.S. want to be seen as opposing that?"

"But still, Pakistan is an ally …"

"Considering how they've 'helped' us in dealing with the Taliban, some ally," Tony growled. "And Iran certainly isn't."

"Nor will they be if we can't figure out what's going on here." Natalie was clearly set in her position.

"Still … maybe we should be supporting whoever this is. Quietly, maybe – but supporting nonetheless." He turned to Pepper for support.

Pepper shrugged. "I can see both sides. But there's another clue is what you said about Prometheus' speed, Tony …"

As she said it, it clicked in Tony's mind. "Whoever it is, their range is going to be limited!"

"Exactly. Half the speed of sound is, what, 375 miles an hour of so? Unless they're commuting in to do this, they must be local to the Middle East."

"Or South or Central Asia," Natalie added. "If they're not local, they're going to leave a massive paper trail – flight records or airline ticket purchases – and that'll make them relatively easy to find. But more likely we're dealing with someone based in Asia."

"It's something at least," Tony added with a shrug. "I'll keep studying this in my spare time, see if I can come up with anything else."

"And I'll report what we have to Mr. Fury." Natalie pulled out her phone, and suddenly smiled. "Oh – got a text from my boyfriend …" She headed up the stairs.

Tony began to bring the Pegasus specs back up on his computer screens, then stopped and turned to Pepper. "Natalie has a boyfriend now?"

"They just met last month, when she was back in D.C.," Pepper informed him. "He's an assistant professor at Howard University."

"Huh. Good for her." Another screen up, another pause. "Howard's a historically black university, isn't it?"

"Last I checked."

Tony took a few seconds to mull that over. "First you and Sue, now this. People around me seem to be developing exotic tastes."

"You've been an inspiration to us all, Tony," Pepper said with a smile, then leaned in for a kiss that lasted awhile.

Finally, it was Tony who pulled back. "Much as I'm enjoying this, I'd better not let you start something your doctor won't let you finish."

Pepper groaned in frustration. "I wish you weren't right. And just for that – speaking of 'exotic tastes' – I won't tell you the rumors I've heard about Phil Coulson's."

"Hey, that's not fair! Wait … would I want to know what he's into? Allegedly?"

"Probably not." With that, Pepper headed upstairs as well. Tony shook his head as if to knock away any idle speculation about the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent's predilections, and dove back into the nuts and bolts of Pegasus.

* * *

Due to her medical condition, Pepper was off work for a few days ("Ronny told me that if he saw me in the office before Tuesday's board meeting, he'd fire me on the spot"), so she was available to make sure Tony, bathed, ate and got a few hours' sleep a night. Otherwise, he was so engrossed in Project Pegasus that he might never have gotten around to any of those.

And so it went through the weekend, with only one interruption – a Saturday call from Nick Fury stating that "Prometheus" had been sighted again. This time no prisons were involved – the mysterious fireball had burned a diverting canal around the property of a Protestant church in Chennai, India, thus protecting it from a monsoon-related flood. Nick promised he'd pass along any information they could get, and that was that.

Thus by Monday, Tony felt it was time to take a bold step, and called Undersecretary Flournoy. "I just sent you the schematics I've cranked out to pass on to the doctors and any electronics experts you have on the team. But I'm pretty confident I have something that'll work for Lieutenant Carey. However, we have a logistical problem to deal with."

"What's that?" Flournoy replied.

"I'm involved in another government project right now – S.H.I.E.L.D.-related …"

"Yeah, I suspected that might happen when Nick Fury crashed the party last week."

Tony nodded; Dara Sanborn, good soldier that she was, must've reported Nick's uninvited arrival to her boss. "Well, between that and what Stark business I'm directly involved with right now – not to mention what I'll be involved in come November – it would be … exceedingly difficult for me to be making repeated trips to Washington for this project. If I'm going to make this work …"

"… we need to move the project and everyone in it out to California? No problem!"

"I don't know what it'll … wait, did you say 'no problem'?"

Tony could hear the undersecretary's smile over his cell phone. "Mr. Stark, we were prepared to relocate the operation to the L.A. area as soon as you came up with a workable plan. Granted, I didn't expect you to do it in seven days, but who am I to gripe about that? I'll have my people look over what you sent ASAP, but if they OK them, we could move the entire thing to your back yard as soon as the beginning of next week."

"Oh. Um … you'll excuse me if I'm not used to this much efficiency when dealing with the government."

That got a laugh out of Flournoy. "If you didn't believe this project had been fast-tracked, here's your proof."

"So it appears. Are we talking Edwards or Vandenberg?" Tony inquired, naming the two largest Air Force bases in Southern California.

"Try Los Angeles. We'll borrow some space from the 61st Air Base Group at LAAFB and house the personnel at Tierra Vista. It should be a pretty easy commute for you from Malibu to El Segundo." A straight shot along the highway, as a matter of fact. This was looking better and better. "So will there be anything else you'll need?"

Tony smirked. "One thing, Madame Undersecretary. I'm going to need the best veterinary neurosurgeon in the country. And right away …"


	7. Chapter 7

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 7: Live from Los Angeles, It's Pegleg Pete!

For all disclaimers and the like, see the beginnings of chapters 1 and 4. And for regular readers, expect the new chapters to star coming thicker and faster now that my batteries are a bit more recharged. Let's do this thing!

* * *

The second he hung up the phone after talking to Undersecretary Flournoy, Tony knew things were going to get busy, and pronto. Sure enough, he had to take a dozen more phone calls plus do a video chat between then and Wednesday evening, squaring away one Pegasus-related detail after another. Traditionally, he would've been dumping all that minutiae on Pepper or Natalie (or if neither of them, any Stark Industries employee who was foolish enough to be in his vicinity at the time). But because it was related to his new project, he found he was having fun getting elbows-deep in the arrangements.

The biggest arrangement of all came Thursday morning. Tony got up that day even earlier than usual, double- and triple-checking JARVIS's fabrication work and making extra-sure that the second-floor room in his house he'd had temporarily converted from a spare bedroom the previous day was as sterile as could be managed. By 8 a.m., there was really nothing left to do but wait, yet he found he couldn't sit still.

For her part, Pepper was supporting him by hiding her bemused smile behind a mug of chamomile tea as he rushed around. But eventually, she couldn't keep silent any longer. "You know, Tony, maybe you should do some jumping jacks, or run around the house a few times. Burn off the nervous energy …"

Tony looked over at her and smirked. "Pepper, you're gonna make a hell of a mom someday." His smirk widened as she blushed.

Just then, his Blackberry rang with the tone reserved for calls from the main security gate. "Yo!"

Happy Hogan was on the other end. "Dr. Phillips and his staff are here, boss."

"Great – bring 'em up to the house!" He hung up and turned back to Pepper. "You sure you don't want to help with this?"

Pepper shook her head firmly. "Like I said before, Tony. One, I've got an MBA, not an M.D. Two, Dr. Faisal wants me to avoid stressful situations. And three, I don't. Like. Rodents. You go ahead, but leave me out of this."

"Okay, just thought I'd offer again." He didn't have time to say more, as Happy came through the front door, followed by Dr. Phillips, his surgical assistant, an anesthesiologist and three nurses, one of whom was carrying the guest of honor.

Tony walked up briskly and extended a hand. "Doctor, glad to finally meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Stark. Great admirer o' yours." Dr. Anthony Phillips was, just as Tony had requested, America's foremost veterinary neurosurgeon. He also looked and sounded like he could easily win first runner-up in a Sam Elliott impersonation contest, if such a thing existed. After introducing his colleagues, he continued, "Sorta strange request you had, but the gov'ment vouches for it, and I figure you know what yer about. Thank ya for sendin' your plane down to Phoenix for us – sure made for a nice ride."

"My pleasure, Doctor. The operating theater is all set up if you'd like to tour it before we begin …"

"Lead on, Mr. Stark – and if everything's up to snuff, we oughta get right to it. This operation, I figger, could take up to six hours, so there's no sense in dallyin'."

"I like the way you think, Doc. Onward and upward!" He led the group toward the stairs and the next step in the project.

* * *

Early Sunday afternoon found Tony, Pepper and Natalie waiting by the helipad at Los Angeles Air Force Base in El Segundo. Impatiently. "ETA still holding, Lieutenant Wismer?" Tony asked.

The newly-minted second lieut serving as their escort nodded. "No further changes, Mr. Stark, or we'd have heard from Vandenberg. They should be here within the hour."

The original itinerary had the entourage from Washington arriving an hour _ago_, but that was then, and this was now. "Thanks, Lieutenant," Tony replied with a sigh, then turned to Pepper, who had given up on decorum and was sitting on the low concrete wall surrounding the pad, reading a Robert J. Sawyer novel. "You doing okay, Pep?"

"Hunky-dory," she replied without looking up, and patted Tony on the outside of the leg.

Tony gave her hand a quick squeeze, just as Natalie's PDA began, of all improbabilities, to play a Beach Boys Christmas tune. She groaned, paused the first-person shooter game she'd been playing on it, and switched it to telephone mode. "Yes, sir? … I'm over at LAAFB with … yes, sir, that's correct … well, I'm outside – let me walk over here and …" The rest of the conversation – except for a loud "oh, crap!" – was lost to Tony as she moved away from the group to get some privacy.

After a few minutes, she returned and held out her device to Tony. "It's Mr. Fury. Not good news."

"Redundant," he quipped dryly as he took the proffered PDA. "Okay, Nick, break it to me gently."

"Prometheus has now succeeded in royally pissing me off," Nick Fury boomed over the connection.

_Not a difficult feat_, Tony mused. "Dare I ask how?"

"By disrupting a U.S. Army operation yesterday in Kandahar Province, Afghanistan, near the Pakistan border. They were moving in to rescue three aid workers who'd been taken hostage by Pashtun rebels. This joker decided to get there and do the job first."

Yeah, that wasn't good. "Well, I hope he was at least successful."

"He was. Though the freed aid workers nearly got shot as they ran toward our troops afterward. And our men lost the chance to interrogate any of the rebels – they'd already scattered by the time their hideout was reached. So the entire operation was wrecked. But no civilians were killed, so if you want a bright spot, there it is." Nick didn't sound like he wanted one.

"That, and whoever Prometheus is, he or she has good intentions …"

"Yeah, what's the road to ruin paved with again?" Nick interrupted. "Whoever they are, they could've gotten killed, could've gotten innocent people killed, cost us an opportunity to gain valuable intel on some terrorists, and in general made my life more difficult. I don't give a flying damn how much of a humanitarian he or she thinks they are." He stopped for breath, then added, "and to top it off, we still don't have any _pictures_!"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I guess that would've been too much to ask. Is anyone pumping the aid workers for info? For that matter, what did the soldiers see?"

"I'm working on that; what I can get, I'll copy you. But seriously, enough is enough – I have had it with this motherf…"

"Okay, I hear you, I hear you," Tony said quickly, cutting off the flow of invective. "E-mail me what you can pry loose, and I'll see what I can figure out."

"Some answers would be nice too, while you're at it." Nick clearly was in no mood for accommodation.

"Tell me about it," Tony grunted, but Nick had already hung up. He handed the device back to Natalie with a rueful shake of his head.

Natalie replied in kind. "I know. I hate when he's like this."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "You mean, there are times when he's _not_ like that?" To his right and a few feet down, Pepper suppressed a snort of laughter.

"Yes, sir." Natalie busied herself with resuming her game.

"Why don't I ever get to see them?"

Natalie looked up at him, chewed on the corner of her mouth for a moment, then turned back to her PDA without answering. Verbally, anyway.

Just then, Wismer looked up. "I think this might be them …"

And sure enough, here came a Bell UH-1N with a U.S. Air Force roundel on the side. It swung toward the waiting quartet, and touched down gently as Natalie and Pepper tried to keep their hair in place. After a minute the rotors stopped and the hatch in the side opened to allow a ramp to pass to the ground.

Tony walked up, with the others trailing, to greet the new arrivals. First off was Dr. Kaur, the British neurosurgeon. Her brown skin was tinged with green, and she looked like she couldn't wait to get out of the 'copter. Tony took her hand to help her off the ramp. "First helicopter flight?"

"And last, I hope," she replied. "Give me a nice, well-insulated aeroplane any day …"

The other passengers, thankfully, seemed none the worse for wear. Dr. Goldman, the orthopedist from Bethesda, came out next and gave Tony a hearty two-handed handshake, followed by Rhodey and a slap on the back. Then, out stepped Dara Sanborn. "Well, what brings you here?"

Dara shrugged. "The Undersecretary decided that since we'd gotten on so well a couple of weeks ago, she'd make me State Department lee-_ay_-son to the project. It'll look good on the resume, if nothing else," she added with a giggle.

"Bummer for your boyfriend, though – you being off on the other coast."

Dara's face darkened. "_Ex-_boyfriend. I caught him with some skinny slut from GW. Jerk."

Oops. "Sorry, I didn't know …"

Dara waved it away. "Don't worry about it – it's his loss." Her face seemed to be withholding support for the statement, though.

"Well, I hope that hasn't soured you on _MST3K_ – I have all the episodes on DVD if you want to borrow some."

That seemed to cheer her up a little. "Might take you up on that." Then she glanced behind her and said, "oh boy. Watch out …"

Tony didn't have a chance, or a need, to ask why. Marching out of the bird was a ramrod-stiff young man in Army dress greens that look like they'd just been freshly sharpened. He walked up to Tony and gave him a way-too-snappy salute. "Mr. Stark, sir! Lieutenant Michael Lee Bragg, Pentagon! Department of Defense liaison to Project Pegasus! Pleasure to be working with you, sir!"

Tony's glance flickered toward Rhodey (doing his best to hide a smile) and Dara (rolling her eyes), then back to Lieutenant Bragg. "Um … at ease." Bragg took it literally, moving his feet to shoulder width, clasping his hands behind his back and generally looking as much "at ease" as a palace guard. "So, what's your role here?"

"Reporting back to the Pentagon on any and all activities involving the project, sir! And in general keeping the civilians in line, sir!"

Oh boy, indeed. Tony thought about pointing out that he himself (not to mention almost everyone involved in Project Pegasus except Dr. Goldman, his staff, and Rhodey) were civilians, but decided not to bother. The timing would've been bad, too, as there was a commotion coming from the helicopter. "Get your bloody hands off, I know how to get down a bloody ramp …"

He knew the voice. And he knew the attitude. He caught Pepper looking at him quizzically and nodded as if to say, _you'll see_.

Adele Carey came barreling down the ramp from the copter, using her remaining hand to maneuver the lightweight wheelchair and clearly not giving a fig what anyone else thought of her speed. Or her missing body parts – she was dressed for sunny California, in khaki shorts and a Wolverhampton Wanderers jersey, neither of which did anything to hide the bandages covering her stumps. Behind her, a female Navy officer was hurrying to keep up, and looking like she didn't dare do anything besides that.

Adele skidded to a halt in front of Tony, and sketched a quick salute. "Reporting for duty, sir," she said with a jaunty smile. "Up for a five-kilometer march if you are!"

"At ease, Lieutenant," Tony said with a smirk as the Navy woman caught up. "Who's your friend?"

Adele looked over her shoulder at the other woman. "This is Lieutenant Susan Forster. My babysitter, or so it seems."

Forster, looking put upon, saluted as well. "I'm a nurse on Dr. Goldman's staff," she added in a gentle Southern accent, Virginia maybe. "The rest of the medical personnel are flying in tonight, but I was brought along to … help Lieutenant Carey. Should such help be needed."

"Which it usually isn't," Adele muttered.

Tony was finding the dynamic between the two women interesting. "You must be pleased your patient has such a positive attitude, Lieutenant."

"She's a fighter, sir." Forster's grimace indicated that it was not an unmixed blessing.

The helicopter's crew was busy closing up the bird and readying it for departure, indicating that all passengers were on the ground. Tony introduced Pepper and Natalie to Adele, Dara, Lieutenants Bragg and Forster, and the doctors, then moved to the edge of the pad and waited for the noise to pass as the 'copter powered up and headed back to Vandenberg.

Once normal speech was possible again, Tony addressed the group. "All right, here we are. You all know that Project Pegasus is kind of a big deal – full backing of the White House and such. We're going to have an all-hands meeting tomorrow at nine a.m. to discuss the project in detail and show you what we've developed so far regarding it .. yes, Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant Bragg had his hand up. "What time will that meeting be again, sir?"

Tony's brow furrowed. He was sure he'd mentioned it … "Tomorrow morning at nine."

"Sir?"

Next to Bragg, Dara sighed theatrically. "0900 …"

"Thank you, ma'am!"

"… dipwich," Dara concluded. Rhodey and Forster both worked to hide smiles. Apparently Bragg was getting on everybody's nerves, not just Dara's

Tony went on. "Quarters have been assigned for you and the other staff here at L.A. Air Force Base. Lieutenant Wismer will help you get settled in. How many more are we expecting, Dr. Goldman? About a dozen?"

Dr. Goldman nodded. "Thirteen, once you include the physical therapist."

"Well, there's plenty of room for everyone. Now, are any of you SoCal natives?" No hands went up. "Not a problem. I've detailed my assistant, Ms. Rushman, to answer any questions you have about the area – where the eats are, what neighborhoods to avoid at night, that sort of thing. Between her and Colonel Rhodes, they should be able to cover everything."

"So if I simply must have some time at the beach …" Adele chipped in. A couple of others quietly seconded the motion.

"Three miles due west," Natalie replied, warming to her role as ersatz tour guide. "But keep in mind, we don't have the Gulf Stream on this coast – the water's a bit chilly."

"As far as official matters," Tony resumed, "according to Undersecretary Flournoy, I'm in charge of coordinating the whole deal here. For medical concerns, I'll be largely deferring to Dr. Goldman, and for military matters to Colonel Rhodes. Plus all of us are reporting back to the State and Defense Departments, and ultimately the White House. Regardless, the buck does stop with me. If any of you have a problem with answering to a civilian, well, that'll just have to be your problem." He stole a quick glance at Bragg, who showed no reaction.

"Okay, that's all I've got for now. You're dismissed, and I'll see you at nin … sorry, _0900_ tomorrow." The group, led by Natalie and Lieutenant Wismer, left for the base proper, while Tony and Pepper headed back to Happy and the limo; Natalie had come in her own leased SUV.

"Interesting group we've got, isn't it?" Pepper remarked dryly.

"Yeah … I just hope the interpersonal stuff doesn't undermine the project. I mean, I'm not worried about Adele and Lieutenant Forster – that's just standard nurse-patient bickering. But Bragg …" He shook his head. "We don't need some West Point REMF who thinks he knows how the world works sending negative reports to the Pentagon."

Pepper shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Rhodey can handle him. Heck, Dara, the girl from State, was able to handle him."

"Mmmm … point taken."

"Though I sure didn't like how she was looking at you."

"How she … what do you mean? How was she looking at me?"

"You didn't notice? Stars in her eyes …"

He _hadn't_ noticed. Egads, was he losing his touch? "Ah, I doubt it means anything. She just broke up with her boyfriend – probably hurting a little."

"Well, don't you go healing her."

"Oh, come on, envy much? She is _not_ my type." Which was true enough, Tony thought – too short, too wide, and frankly too young. "Besides, even if she was, she could hardly compete with you." To emphasize the last statement, he stopped to give her a kiss.

The smooch threatened to turn into more, and they both had to pull back. "Dammit," Pepper groaned quietly.

"Tell me about it," Tony grumbled. "How … um, how have you been feeling …?" He tapped the area over his heart.

Pepper shrugged morosely. "About as normal as can be expected. I guess." She sighed. "I just want to get it over with. But Dr. Faisal says the Coumadin needs time to work first, and there are other people needing operations that are more urgent, and …" She threw up her hands. "What can I do?"

"What the doctor says, I guess." Tony wasn't a big fan of doctors, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. So instead of talking, he pulled her closer for a firm but very cautious, very chaste hug.

Finally Pepper drew back. "Thanks, Tony. I needed that."

"It's okay, Pepper – let's get back." But he knew neither of them felt okay.

* * *

As it turned out, though, they weren't the only ones having to deal with unwanted sexual tension.

Tony's cell phone woke him up out of a deep sleep. For a second he couldn't figure out where he was, then remembered that he'd volunteered to crash on the couch and let Pepper have his bed – after their clinch and subsequent discussion that afternoon, they thought they'd better take steps to keep temptation at bay.

The phone was playing Katchaturian's "Saber Dance," the ringtone JARVIS had programmed for calls from Natalie. But why would Natalie be calling at – Tony looked around for a clock – almost one in the morning? Crap, must be an emergency. "H'llo?"

"To-o-ony!"

Whoever it was, it wasn't Natalie. "Hello?"

"Tony, Tony, Tony – whatcha doin', doin', doin'?"

The voice was just slurred enough that it took him a few seconds to place it. "Dara?"

"Uh-huh. Big as life and twice as cute."

_What the …_ "What's going on?"

"Oh, just feelin' kinda lonely. Youuuu feelin' lonely, Tonely?" She giggled before continuing. "Nah, you're prob'ly not lonely atall – I saw that skinny little stick you were with today …"

Tony's brow furrowed. He didn't like Pepper being characterized as a "skinny little stick." "What are you doing with Natalie's …"

"Hey, yer loss, big boy. But if y'ever wanna be with a _reeeeal_ woman, you know where to … hey, stop, I'm tryin' ta …" There were sounds of a scuffle, and then another voice. "Mr. Stark?"

Whew. "Evening, Natalie."

"Sir, I want to apologize for everything Dara just said. If I had known what she'd wanted to borrow my phone for …" In the background, Dara was continuing, verbally at least, her struggle to get back on the line.

"Don't worry about it. What exactly _is_ going on?"

Natalie sighed. "Well, after they got unpacked, the ladies – Dr. Kaur, Lieutenant Carey, Lieutenant Forster and Dara – wanted to see the town."

"I would've thought they'd be jet-lagged."

"Apparently they spent the last week adjusting to Pacific time before even coming out here. Anyway, we grabbed dinner, then headed up to Hollywood, saw the Walk of Fame, Rodeo Drive – you know, tourist stuff. Well, we were getting hungry again, so we landed at this bar and grill on Wilshire. And when the proprietors here found out Adele had been injured in Iraq, they started a round of applause, comped all our meals and people started sending drinks …"

Tony put two and two together. "And while most of you restrained yourselves, Dara decided to drown her recent breakup in Cosmos."

"Mai tais, actually, but yeah, that's pretty much the story."

"Well, no blood, no foul. Pour Dara into your car and bring her and the others back to the base, let the MPs deal with it from there. Then go get some sleep. And remind me tomorrow that I owe you something extra for this."

"I'm thinking jewelry, sir."

"It's a deal. Good night."

Tony hung up as Pepper – dressed for sleeping in a Stanford University sweatshirt and plaid pajama pants – padded in barefoot from the bedroom. "Who was that?"

"Dara. She drunk-dialed me."

Five seconds of silence. And then Pepper turned around and headed back to bed, laughing all the way down the hall.

* * *

"Sir?"

Tony had just been checking his watch – it was three minutes to nine, or 0857 if you were Michael Lee Bragg – when he heard the whisper behind him. He turned around to find something that resembled a wax sculpture of Dara Sanborn, only if they hadn't quite gotten the skin color right.

"Sir … um, I may have called you … last night …"

Tony affected a stone face. "It never happened."

It took a moment before the full meaning registered. Then Dara's face broke into a painful but relieved smile. "Thank you."

"Hey, been there. Go take a seat, we're almost ready to start."

She did, which was a good thing – soon so many people were crowded into the conference room that there not only weren't enough chairs, there wasn't enough space for all the chairs they'd need. All of yesterday's arrivals were present - Drs. Kaur and Goldman and their medical staff (all sixteen of them), Rhodey, Dara (or what was left of her), Lieutenant Bragg and Adele – along with Tony, Natalie, Zeke Atchison (a Stark Industries engineer whom Tony had drafted to help him in the design of Adele's replacement limbs) and an Air Force MP guarding the door. The result was that several people were left standing in corners, including (not surprisingly) Bragg, who appeared to be practicing looking relaxed. And failing.

The advantages, however, were that Tony wouldn't have to use a mike to be heard, everyone could hear everyone else … and everyone would be able to interact with Tony's intended Exhibit A.

At 9:05, Tony got everyone's attention. "Okay, folks. Now I know you have all been briefed on what's involved in Project Pegasus, so I won't go over it again. But there has been a slight change." Murmurs around the room. "Lieutenant Carey, I know you expressed your willingness to be the 'guinea pig' for this project. But that won't be the case. We've found someone more qualified for that role."

More murmurs. Adele looked concerned. "Mr. Stark, I'm not sure I understand."

"All will be clear in a moment. Soldier, could you let Dr. Phillips in?" The MP complied, and Dr. Phillips entered, carrying a large black plastic case with airholes and muttering "excuse me's" as he worked his way through the crowd to Tony's side.

Tony continued. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Dr. Anthony Phillips, DVM, of the Veterinary Neurological Center of Phoenix, Arizona."

A few hellos, a couple of confused sounds, and some folks whispering "veterinary?"

"I was able to come up with what looked like a workable concept for Lieutenant Carey's replacement limbs. But as most of you know, there's a difference between a workable concept and what will work in actual practice. So we needed to make a dry-run test. With the help of Dr. Phillips and members of his staff, we ran that test … and the results were excellent. Lieutenant Carey, you also mentioned when we first talked that you would rather not go through life as 'Pegleg Pete.' Well, we've found someone else willing to take that on as well. Dr. Phillips, could you open the case?"

The vet popped the latches securing the bottom of the case to the sides. "Folks, allow me to introduce Project Pegasus' beta test, and maybe our mascot, who knows? This …"

Dr. Phillips lifted the top of the case, leaving behind a small cage. Inside it were sawdust shavings, a water bottle, a small bowl of food pellets, and a medium-sized guinea pig. The furry animal's left leg was a graphite-shelled replacement limb, complete with small plastic claws.

"… is Pegleg Pete," Tony concluded.

Reaction was swift and varied, ranging from shock and awe to the kind of sounds people make when seeing newborn babies, to a pointed question from one of Dr. Goldman's assistants: "does it really work like an actual leg?" As if in response, Pegleg Pete nonchalantly scratched behind his left ear with the new attachment, then trotted over to his water bottle and had a good suck.

"To answer yer question." Dr. Phillips replied, "far as we can tell, ol' Pete here doesn't really know that his leg his gone. He might wonder about the odd appearance of the new one, but it works just fine, and that's all 'at matters to him."

"Would … would it be all right if I held him for a bit?" Adele asked.

"Well, sure, ma'am. Gotta warn you, tho' – he's still just a guinea pig, so he'll piddle whenever an' wherever he feels like it. Might want to keep him on the table an' not in yer lap." He moved the cage closer, opened the door, and Adele gently reached in and lifted the animal out onto the table in front of her.

The medical people began peppering Dr. Phillips with questions about the minutiae of the operation and subsequent recovery. But Adele just sat in her wheelchair, stroking Pegleg Pete's fur and occasionally feeding him a pellet of food. Finally she looked up at a smiling Tony and, with hope in her voice, quietly said, "Cor, this is really going to work, isn't it?"

"That's the plan, Lieutenant. That's the plan …"


	8. Chapter 8

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 8: Introductions and Overviews

For all disclaimers, see chapters 1 and 4 as usual.

* * *

It took only a couple of days of close proximity for Tony to come to a basic conclusion: he had never before met anyone like Lieutenant Adele Carey.

Granted, he'd hobnobbed with folks from the United Kingdom in the past, but they had always been either high-ranking political or military officials eager to purchase his weapons, or Pretty Young Things eager – or at least willing – to be his latest sexual conquest (back in the pre-Gulmira days when he was cutting a wide swath through the female half of the species). But Adele was neither, and not for a moment afraid to be what she was.

"What she was," as far as she was concerned, was plenty good enough. She constantly cracked wise about the British Army, the U.S. military, politics on both sides of the Atlantic (and elsewhere), movies, sports, doctors, nurses, Tony, and especially herself and her "unfortunate condition" (a term she appropriated from one of her M.D.s and – with an arch tone of voice and a faux-haughty eye roll – turned into a two-word satire on the very concept of medical euphemisms). If anything was safe from her wit, it was well hidden.

Whatever she was physically capable of doing, she did – and woe betide the person who attempted to do it for her. (As Lieutenant Forster seemed to discover anew about twice a day.) If she wasn't physically capable, she'd try anyway, and not give up until she was too tired to make another attempt or was called away for another of the innumerable tests or checks of vitals that the medical staff put her through. Still, her sense of humor remained paramount – as when she was strapped into a modified exercise bicycle to test her endurance and refused to stop pedaling (with her one mostly-intact leg) for yet another blood-pressure check. Her retort at the time was, "if Lance Armstrong can win all those bloody Tours de France with no testicles, why should I give up training?" Her pain threshold was ridiculously high, as it had to be for her to do the things she did, as stubbornly as she did them.

And through it all, she made no apologies for being female, or dark-skinned, or British, or (temporarily, it was hoped) crippled, or anything else. To Tony, she seemed to combine the sensual athleticism of a Venus Williams, the gallows humor of a Martha Beck, and the mental acuity and focus of … well, of a Tony Stark.

She quickly became a constant source of amusement, amazement and admiration for him – and "constant" wasn't much of an exaggeration. Any worktime not already promised to Stark Industries or S.H.I.E.L.D., or spent in his workshop perfecting the replacement parts that would soon become Adele-parts, was spent at Los Angeles Air Force Base with the Project Pegasus team. Even if nothing specific needed to be done, he was talking to someone – whoever was around, but usually Adele.

And Adele was more than happy to talk – it broke up the boredom of bed rest and medical tests. Plus, by her own admission, it kept her mind off her nervousness about the coming operations. "After all, it's not as if I'm just popping in to the local clinic to get a flu shot. This …" She raised her remaining hand and waved it noncommittally. "If you think about it, what's planned for me _is_ a little strange. No offense meant."

"None taken," Tony replied. "I know it must feel sometimes like you've stumbled into a bad science-fiction story." He knew that feeling; he'd felt it when he'd come to in Gulmira and found an electromagnet implanted in his chest, courtesy of the ingenuity and compassion of Ho Yinsen. The feeling had never entirely gone away.

"Well, I hope it's a _good_ story – at least one with a happy ending. But it's all so weird … losing bits of yourself, and of course your brain not really cluing in that the bits are missing, and then finding out that maybe you can get the bits back. Plus all the travel – from Iraq to Birmingham, then to Bethesda, then to California of all places! The bits I've got left don't know whether they're coming or going." Suddenly she got a puzzled look on her face. "Bloody 'ell, I just realized I don't even know how last Sunday's Wolves match came out …"

One of Dr. Kaur's assistants happened to be walking by. "Lost to Aston Villa, 2-1."

"Oh, bugger all – that makes us 1-2-and-3 now. We'll get relegated again if this keeps up!"

"Why Wolverhampton?" Tony inquired.

Adele shrugged. "Grew up less than a kilometer from Molineux Stadium. And my father's rooted for them ever since he was a lad, when his parents moved there."

"Where'd they come from, London?"

Adele almost laughed. "No – Kenya. Well, it was still British East Africa then. Grandfather was pro-Crown, some kind of minor functionary in the colonial machine. So when the Mau Mau Rebellion hotted up, he was a marked man – was lucky to get himself and his family out alive. Had to start all over again as a lorry driver in Birmingham, but he made a success of it and moved out to the suburbs – right when Wolves were at their peak, taking on all comers and beating most." She stopped and shook her head. "You might guess that I've heard Grandfather talk football a few times. Father joked that if you gave Grandfather a choice of meeting Stan Cullis, the Wolves' manager, or meeting the Queen, he'd have told Her Majesty to take a rain check."

Tony grinned at that. He'd met both Prince Charles and Wayne Rooney, and Rooney had been more memorable. "Your family story sounds a little like mine."

Adele gave him a surprised look. "Really? From which part of Africa were your ancestors chased?"

"Not Africa, Europe. Hermann Stark was what they called a 'free-thinker' back then, found himself on the losing side of the Revolutions of 1848 in Prussia. High-tailed it across the Atlantic, ended up in Pennsylvania – and the next year, picked up stakes and moved again, this time to California."

"One of the legendary Forty-Niners, panning for gold?"

"Yes and no. Mining engineer – built equipment for other people to find gold. But it only took one California 'winter' for him to decide that Pennsylvania – not to mention Prussia – was for the birds. We've been out here ever since."

"No fool he. So your family has been in Los Angeles for, what, over 150 years?"

"Almost. It was actually Isaac Stark, Hermann's son, that came down here in … 1880-something, I forget. He started a company to make irrigation equipment, then found out there was more money in Gatling guns. And the rest is history."

"And now you make weapons, and find out there's more opportunity in something else?" she replied with a half-smile.

Tony stretched his arms and stared into the middle distance. "The future is bright and full of promise … but its parameters are still unknown," he replied. "At present, however, I'm focused on getting _you_ back on your feet. Literally."

"And don't think I don't appreciate that!"

"Lieutenant Carey!" One of Dr. Goldman's assistants popped his head in the room. "Time for another nerve-induction test."

Adele rolled her eyes and sighed. "Well, I know what my future holds, at least the next hour. Oh the joy."

Tony patted her on the shoulder. "Hang in there, soldier. This too shall pass."

"I should bloody well hope so," she grunted as she turned her wheelchair and headed out the door.

Just then, Tony's Blackberry came to life. "Be good news," he declared after pushing the "talk" button.

"You're in luck – it is," Pepper said from her end of the line.

"The rabbit died?"

"Um … no, sorry," she replied after a few seconds of stunned silence. "But I don't think you'll be displeased. Nick just shot you an e-mail …"

The though clicked into Tony's mind before she could finish. "We got a picture of Prometheus?"

"We got a picture of Prometheus. Apparently yesterday there was some sort of riot in Burhanpur, Madhya Pradesh. It's in west-central India. Reports are, it was the usual rumble between Hindus and Muslims, with the few local Christians caught in the middle. One side or the other was about to attack a church when – again, these are the reports – a fireball appears out of the west, hovers over the church steeple, and starts shooting lightning bolts or something to the ground to drive back the rioters."

"Lightning bolts, huh?"

"Or something. Anyway, the crowd dispersed, and the fireball took off again, heading back west. But not before someone with a camera phone took a couple of snaps and tried to sell them to the local TV station. Indian Intelligence Bureau got wind of it, made him a better offer, and passed it on to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Tony was already headed for his car. "Say no more; I'm on my way. Let Natalie know too, and have her meet us downstairs."

* * *

A half-hour later, the three of them were in Tony's lab, gathered around his largest monitor and toggling between the two pictures the enterprising Indian had – for a price – yielded to the authorities. "Well, this is disappointing," Natalie muttered.

"Considering they're from a camera phone, we should probably consider ourselves fortunate," Pepper replied.

Tony let the two women discuss the low quality of the snapshots while he tried to figure out what was so striking about them. They admittedly didn't look like much – a glowing chunk in the sky that, using the church steeple below it for perspective, was at most the size of a golf cart. It looked like the cart (or whatever it was) might have a driver in it, but it was hard to tell; the brightness of the object made it feel like one was staring into the sun …

"Aha."

Both women stopped and stared at Tony. "What did you spot?" Pepper asked?

"Just a second, let me double-check." Tony tried a couple of tricks with his photo-editing software to screen out some of the glare. "Okay. If you didn't know that _that_ –" He pointed at the picture of Prometheus on the screen. "- was our suspect, what would you think it was?"

Pepper shook her head. "A … a meteor? A missile?"

"More like a piece of the sun," Natalie ventured.

"Exactly. The quality of the light …":

Now Pepper was nodding. "Okay, I see that now."

"He – or she – is using some sort of fusion power."

"Is that possible? Nobody's managed to safely harness fusion power," Natalie stated with open skepticism.

"Nobody that we know of," Tony answered. "I'd want to see more photos before I'd be willing to state it definitively. But that's what it looks like to me."

"Well, you may be in luck regarding more photos. Nick called right after he e-mailed these to you, and told me that between this incident and the rescue in Afghanistan last weekend, it's making the Iranians and Pakistanis a little more willing to share with us what they know. And they're saying they have pictures from those prison breaks, or at least the aftermaths. Nick said he might have more goodies for you as early as tomorrow, more likely this weekend."

"Sounds promising." Tony smiled and cracked his knuckles. "Well, we've got at least three more clues to work with."

Pepper looked at him quizzically. "Possible fusion power, and what else?"

"This is the second example of Prometheus protecting a church. Seems he or she's got a thing for churches. And those aid workers in Afghanistan, weren't they affiliated with some Christian group?"

"You're right, they were. So Prometheus is a Christian?"

"Or sympathetic to them. I wonder if Nick can find out from the Iranians and Pakistanis which prisoners were freed, and what they were charged with."

"I'll mention it to him," Nataliue chimed in.

"And third," Tony continued, "whoever it is is based somewhere west of Burhanpur – and not too far west, either."

"Could be based elsewhere, and have come and gone from the west to throw people off," Natalie posited.

Pepper shook his head. "Not likely if our previous theory of limited range is correct."

Tony nodded. "Agreed – wouldn't waste to waste power if they didn't have to. Which narrows down our target area a lot – basically either western India or southern Pakistan. You know, Natalie, you may want to tell that to Nick, too – if he were to imply to the Pakistani authorities that this person could be working out of their territory, they might be more willing to accept our help."

"And if he were to suggest that Prometheus is working out of India, they'd _definitely_ be more willing to accept our help! I'll tell him." Natalie shouldered her purse. "Although that gives us a fourth possible clue."

"How so?"

"If Prometheus is hitting both India and Pakistan, that likely means our mystery fireball isn't working for either one. Either he or she is an independent, or they're working for some outside power that wants to destabilize the region."

"China? Russia?" Pepper theorized.

Natalie furrowed her brow. "Not likely to be China if whoever it is is pro-Christian. But you never know these days. Heck, Prometheus could be working for some U.S. agency that forgot to send the appropriate memos around, for all we know."

Tony smirked. "There's a lovely thought. Well, I'll let you report in to Nick, while I do some tinkering here." Natalie departed, and Tony closed the photo program and opened the schematics for Adele Carey's new right foot. "Man, life gets busy …"

"Speaking of which," Pepper added as she walked up behind him, "you haven't forgotten about tomorrow afternoon, have you?"

"No, I haven't forgotten about tomorr … wait. Is today Thursday already?"

Pepper suppressed a laugh. "Yes, today is Thursday already. Comes once a week, every week."

"Sheesh-oh-beesh." Tony shook his head, then turned around to look at her. "I said something about life getting busy, right?"

Pepper nodded, smiling puckishly. "Just thirty seconds ago. And don't try to weasel out of your promise …"

Tony held up both hands in a placating gesture. "I am not trying to weasel out of it! Only … are you sure you're going to be all right? Physically?" He tapped two fingers over his heart.

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest. "If _you're_ safe, _I'll_ be safe ..."

"Okay, okay. Tomorrow afternoon, 1:30 – I'll be here. Remember to dress warmly. Layers …"

"I'm not usually the one who needs reminding, Tony," Pepper said as she walked away, probably in a harsher tone than she'd intended.

After she left, Tony returned to his schematics, but part of his mind was still on the undertone of tension in his conversation with Pepper. They'd both tried to play it off as playful banter, but … he knew there was more to it. He'd bristled at being treated like the absent-minded professor, even though he _had_ been absent-minded. Pepper didn't want to be coddled, even though she'd had a _freaking heart attack_ less than three weeks ago. Both of them were around the house – and each other – a lot more than usual, which didn't help …

… _And neither of us are getting any_, he added silently. Put all together, it was a guaranteed recipe for relational stress. With no easy solutions.

Tony sighed, shook his head despairingly, and turned back to his monitor. If only personal problems could be fixed as easily as mechanical ones …

* * *

Nor were the personal problems at home the only ones with which Tony had to deal. Friday started off pleasantly – at a meeting with Adele and her doctors, they set up the parameters for her first surgery, which would take place the following Tuesday. If that went well enough, they'd proceed to the other two procedures; if it didn't, they'd have to back up and try another tack. But Tony was confident his design would work, and – positive as always – so was Adele.

It was not long before he had to head back to Malibu and his appointment with Pepper when Rhodey asked if they could talk for a minute – in private. "What's up, Platypus?" he asked once they were behind closed doors.

"My blood pressure," Rhodey replied. "Largely due to a certain Defense Department liaison."

"I haven't been running into Lieutenant Bragg much. Thought he was keeping quiet …"

"No, he's just been busy driving _other_ people nuts. Constantly harping about how we're not following proper military procedure, telling us the Army way of doing things, talking to everyone with that loud voice like he watched _Patton_ too damn many times … I have to tell you, at least two members of the team are ready to arrange an accident for him."

Tony couldn't keep the smirk hidden. "Dara Sanborn and who else?"

"Adele."

_Whoa._ "Seriously? She hadn't mentioned …"

"It happened just this morning, before you arrived. She was in the middle of a reflex test when Bragg started complaining to Dr. Vishniac about a requisition form that hadn't been filled out properly, really giving him grief. Said it would be mentioned in his report to the Pentagon. Incidentally, afterward I looked over the form and yeah, not every 'i' was dotted and 't' crossed, but it was fine – probably no one back in Washington would have noticed, let alone cared."

"And Adele?"

"He left, and Adele looked at me and said – this isn't a quote, you understand, just the gist – she said that if 'that bloke' had been part of her unit, she might have sent him on a ten-kilometer hike. Through a mine field."

Tony had to laugh at that. "I wouldn't take it literally. That's Adele's sense of humor. Hell, if she really had it in for Bragg, I'd think she would have said something to me about it."

"Unless she thought you'd back him." Noting the slight shock on Tony's face, Rhodey pressed on. "She is an army officer – and you are the 'commander-in-chief,' so to speak, of this project …"

Now Tony's expression was of open skepticism. "I don't think that's how she sees me. We talk every day, we're on a first-name basis. She doesn't treat me like I'm the Inspector General. Look, I don't have any reason to believe Adele is prepared to put together a necktie party for Bragg, even if he is being an REMF. And Dara may blow off steam, but I don't think she's the violent type."

"Mmm … maybe not, but she talks a good game."

"Okay – I'll talk with Dara tomorrow, and Adele and some of the other staffers, see what they think But I'd just as soon leave dealing with Bragg in your hands. Way I see it, you may be different services, but he's a second lieutenant, and you're a lieutenant colonel and the military head of this project. When you say 'frog,' he'd better start hopping around the room."

"Well, I've been trying to avoid ordering him … but reasonable discussion hasn't done much good. And when he brings up his 'illustrious ancestor' …"

"Who?"

"The name Braxton Bragg ring a bell?"

"Yeah – worst general in the Confederacy. What, the lieutenant is his four-greats-grandson?"

"Four-greats-grand-_nephew_, actually I really don't think he realizes that won't impress a black man from South Philly."

"Obviously he doesn't. Look, drop the hammer on him as you see fit; even if he doesn't like you or the Air Force, he'd better like that bottlecap on your collar." Tony pointed to the oak-leaf cluster signifying that Rhodey ranked four levels above a second lieut. "If you feel you need a bigger hammer, I'll step in. But I've got enough on my plate – I'd really rather not take this on if I don't have to."

"I appreciate it, Tone. Thanks for letting me vent too."

"Least I could do – you've listened to enough of my rants. And now …" Tony looked at his watch and frowned. "Crap, I gotta go."

"Right now?"

"1:30 appointment back in Malibu – and I can't afford to be late for this one. Barring emergencies, I'll see you tomorrow," he said over his shoulder as he left the room.

* * *

As it was, even the best intentions weren't good enough – he didn't get in to his front door until 1:34. And a peeved-looking Pepper, dressed warmly as asked, was waiting for him.

Tony thought he'd better work fast, before it turned into a repeat of the previous day. "Sorry I'm late, Pep. Tractor-trailer rig overturned on the 10 in Santa Monica – I had to go all the way up to the 405 and come back down through Agoura. Hope I didn't worry you too much."

It worked; her expression softened immediately. She came up, gave him a kiss on the cheek and said, "I flipped on KNX a few minutes ago and heard about the semi. No sweat."

"Oh. Okay. You ready to fly?"

"Let's do it!"

Tony wished she'd been saying that phrase in a different context, but he forced himself to let it pass. "JARVIS, break out the suit and the case – we're on our way to the lab."

By the time they got downstairs, mechanical arms were already moving the pieces of Tony's suit into preparatory position. Tony stepped into the lower-leg sections, held out his own arms, and within thirty seconds, all the other components were in place.

Meanwhile, JARVIS had brought out several more items, some made mostly of translucent plastic, other of the same gold/titanium alloy as the suit. "You will want to remove your heels, Ms. Potts," it intoned.

"Hokay," Pepper replied, slipping off the Manolos without hesitation. "One more reason I should've worn flats today …"

Tony turned his head to look at her, his face-shield still up. "One _more_ reason?"

Pepper nodded. "My feet have been kind of tender the last few days. Maybe it's a side effect of the Coumadin, I don't know. I should have asked Dr. Faisal when she called … oh, jeez, I almost forgot. Good news!"

Tony had to look away, as JARVIS was attaching the second set of components onto the back of his suit. "Yeah?"

"Dr. Faisal called – okay, I already said that. They had a cancellation, so they're moving my surgery up."

"That is good news. When to?"

"A week from Monday." She sighed. "It will be so nice to get it over with!"

"I bet. Adele's probably thinking the same thing." He filled her in on the newly-scheduled plans for Project Pegasus' star patient.

"The observation module is ready for you to board, Ms. Potts," JARVIS said.

The "observation module" was a streamlined case just under seven feet tall, the same height as the Iron Man suit. The bottom two-thirds looked like the suit as well – brushed red and gold alloy – but the top third bore a closer resemblance to Snow White's coffin, only rounded and made of plastic. The back was opened up like a door, and inside there were handgrips, deflated padding (which could be filled with compressed air to fit the passenger) and several small pumps to bring air in and send carbon dioxide out. All in all, it looked like a cross between a space-age dumbwaiter and one of the photon torpedoes from _Star Trek_. Tony had been working on it as a way to carry a passenger, should the need ever arise; Pepper had longed for weeks for the chance to beta-test it.

A smiling Pepper pushed her hair back and strapped on a lightweight helmet she'd picked up at a skateboard shop just for this trip. "Thank you, JARVIS," she replied, and stepped into the case. Tony leaned forward a little to compensate for the extra weight.

JARVIS closed the case door and pumped up the pads until Pepper was firmly ensconced from the armpits to underneath her feet. "A little snug …," she mused.

"It has to be." Tony's voice came from two small speakers, one on either side of her head. "At the speeds we'll be going, it isn't safe to be rattling around. Though if you have any problems with claustrophobia, now's the time to say so."

"No, I'm good."

"You can breathe okay?"

"Just fine." She flexed her fingers on the handgrips. "Ready for takeoff."

"All righty, then. Thrusters at 1.25 percent." The repulsor jets in his gauntlets and boots fired, lifting them a couple of feet into the air. "Attitude change to 90 degrees." The suit tipped forward until Pepper was lying on her stomach on Tony's back, then began to move up the ramp that led outside. "_Thank you_ for flying Iron Man Air's first passenger service. Please turn off all electronic devices – not, I repeat, _not_ including the pilot's controls. Once we have reached cruising altitude, the flight attendants will be coming around serving small inedible snacks and enough booze to float a destroyer escort. Until then, sit back, relax and enjoy your flight."

By the end of Tony's patter Pepper was laughing, but she soon tailed off as the suit, with her on top of it, began rising up over the California coastline. By the time they leveled off, they were over a mile in the air, approaching Santa Monica from the west. Tony smiled as he looked down at the pier and its famous Ferris wheel, remembering his first outdoor flight and the look on the face of the little boy who'd spotted him from that moving perch.

Then he recalled he had a passenger, an uncharacteristically quiet one. "You okay up there?"

"(sniffle)."

"Pep? Are you all right?"

"Uh-huh," she sobbed, took a couple of deep breaths, then added, "It's so beautiful …"

And it was. The skies over southern California that afternoon were clear and cerulean blue, with just enough wind to thin the smog. They were high enough that houses and cars looked like jewels set in a coastal necklace, and the clank and buzz of civilization were out of hearing range. The only outside sounds were the air whipping by and the muted roar of the suit's repulsors.

But Tony had been aloft enough times to know even this could be topped. "You should see it at sunset."

"It's a deal. Ulp." And after a short pause: "Uh-oh."

"Uh … Pepper, could you elaborate?"

"Tony? I think we should probably land. I, um … I think I'm getting a little nauseous."

"No problem – I'll turn around. You sure you're getting enough air in there?"

"Yeah. It's probably just, urkh, something I ate …"

"Roger. Heading home." Tony made as gentle a turn as he could manage and pointed them back toward Malibu.

Five minutes later, they were approaching the mansion. "Still feeling off?" Tony asked.

"(gulp) 'Fraid so."

"JARVIS, be prepared to pop the case door open the second we land …"

"I moved into position shortly after Ms. Potts said 'urkh,' sir."

"Well done. ETA approximately thirty seconds."

As soon as Tony touched down, JARVIS opened the back of the case, and Pepper almost fell on her rear in her haste to get out. She managed to right herself in the nick of time, mumble a quick "sorry" to Tony, and made a controlled power-walk to the bathroom just off the basement lab. By the time Tony had all his armor off and was able to follow, he could already hear her retching.

As he listened, his shoulders slumped. Why was it that everything between them lately – including her stomach – seemed to be going sour?

He could ponder that later, he decided. Pepper needed help right now. Grabbing a couple of clean shop towels, he headed for the bathroom.


	9. Chapter 9

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 9: Getting a Clue

For all disclaimers, see the beginnings of chapters 1 and 4. This chapter ended up much longer than I anticipated, but there was a lot to cover – hope it's worth the wait!

* * *

For the first time since just after his parents died, Tony found he was having trouble sleeping.

He couldn't figure out at first why he found himself tossing and turning or, worse, staring up at the ceiling instead of dropping into deep, peaceful unconsciousness. Granted, he had a lot on his tach screen – his relationship with Pepper, her medical condition (now augmented by nerves over the upcoming operation and a stomach that for whatever reason refused to settle), Project Pegasus (which included _Adele's_ upcoming operations and all the attendant worries), the mystery of Prometheus. And the elephant in the room: Stark Industries, a Fortune 100 company which in just a few weeks he would not only be retaking the wheel of, but steering in new and uncertain directions.

Still, he'd had to juggle multiple stressors before, more times than he could count, and they hadn't cost him any of his standard four hours of rest. Heck, even in the Ten Rings' dirty cave in West Buttscratch, Afghanistan, with his life hanging by a thread, he'd slept soundly for the most part. Why was he having issues now?

Eventually he realized that it wasn't what he was facing that was keeping him up – it was that he was, in fact, _facing_ it. Before, when the pressure got heavy, he could always retreat into a bottle, or a party, or a bedroom/hotel room/broom closet/airplane bathroom with a willing female. And usually did. Now …

… now, those options were either gone or carried more trouble than they were worth. He could drown himself in whiskey if he wanted, but he didn't want to try and operate the suit hung over if there was an emergency the next day. Partying wasn't much fun when everyone else at the party thought of you as Iron Man, American Hero instead of Tony Stark, Rich Dude. And if he returned to bedding "Pepper substitutes" several days a week, he'd lose the _real_ Pepper faster than he could blink. Just like he'd told her a couple of years before, albeit in a different context, "there is nothing except this." Only now "this" included more than just feats of derring-do in a metal suit.

A lot more. "This" now included Pepper Potts – with a heart problem. And another lady, who was missing a hand and both feet. And some mystery person ripping off his act, so to speak, in the middle of Asia. All of which had been added in a five-month space when he was _supposed_ to be stepping back and reordering his life …

Well, it was getting reordered, all right. With a vengeance. What he hadn't yet found for that reordered life was a way to take a break from it.

Nothing to do but cope, he decided. So the one drink a day he allowed himself became a permanent fixture around 11 p.m., in order to speed his descent into dreamland; it helped, a little. And he began to bury himself even more in Pegasus – in the electronic and mechanical details while at home, and the personal ones while at LAAFB. He was so focused on it that when his cell phone rang on Sunday afternoon as he sat in his lab, he picked it up without even looking at the caller ID. "This better be important," he grunted.

"Tony, please. Have I ever called you just to shoot the bull?"

Nick Fury. _Crap._ "Not that I recall, but hope springs eternal. How 'bout those Redskins?"

"They suck, and their owner's a pinhead," Nick replied succinctly and, to Tony's mind, accurately. "Now that _that's_ out of the way, can we get down to business?" He didn't wait for affirmation. "Our boy has been busy again – another prison break, this time near Dushanbe."

Tony started saving his Pegasus files and bringing up his Prometheus notes. "Dushanbe … that's _someplace_ in the old Soviet Union, right?"

"It's the capital of Tajikistan. He struck yesterday, just after sundown local time; a dozen prisoners got away. Thankfully, the Tajik government is cooperating. AND all these events have finally jogged some elbows in Teheran and Islamabad, because now they're coughing up what they've got in their files – including photos of the crime scenes after the fact."

"Well!" Tony smirked. "It's an ill wind that doesn't blow some good."

"And now it needs to start blowing _fast_."

"Sorry?"

"I accept your apology. But right now I've got people who are in the line of presidential succession breathing down my neck, and they want answers immediately if not sooner. Today I'm going to e-mail you everything new we've got from the Iranians, the Pakistanis, the Tajiks and everybody else. Eyewitness accounts, photos, you name it. _And_ I'm having Phil Coulson fly out there tonight. Tomorrow, I want you to meet with him and whoever else you care to bring in, but I need some conclusions drawn to get these people off my back. I know I'm expecting a lot – but I'm talking to someone who in the past has delivered a lot. Think you can manage it?"

Tony couldn't help but think, _just what I need right now_. But what he said was, "I'll try my damnedest."

"Good. You'll have all the intel before the day is over." Without another word, Nick hung up.

And Tony set his phone down, slumped in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he rang up Natalie Rushman to tell her she'd be needed Monday afternoon.

* * *

Tony wasn't in any position to rest Monday morning in preparation for that meeting, either. With Adele's first operation – one expected to take between eight and twelve hours - scheduled for the next day, he had to make absolutely sure his contribution to it was up to snuff. And the other Pegasus staffers must've decided he was the point man as far as calming Adele's nerves about the procedure … which mostly meant almost two hours of listening to her babble nervously and apologize for babbling nervously, alternating. As much as he was coming to enjoy her company, he felt rather relieved when she had to leave for some last-minute tests.

The relief didn't last long. Less than a minute after Adele exited, Rhodey entered, accompanied by a vicious glower and Dr. Kaur. "Have a moment, Tony?"

Tony took his cue from the look on his friend's face. "I'll make a moment. Who needs killing?"

"A certain Southern gentleman …," Rhodey began with withering sarcasm.

"Bragg," Tony interrupted, and sighed.

In response, Rhodey placed several sheets of printer paper in front of him. "Read this."

Tony picked it up. "What is it?"

"The top part is General Meade's note to me regarding what's below."

Tony looked at the portion referenced, smiled momentarily, and then let the smile fade as he read on. "And what's below is Bragg's report back to DoD?"

"Uh-huh." Rhodey's expression didn't change.

Nor should it, Tony reflected as he skimmed the rest. The report was basically nine single-spaced pages worth of nitpicking, slavish devotion to random jots and tittles of Army regulations, and general rear-echelon bureaucratic thickwittery. "Well, I certainly agree with the general …"

At this point, Dr. Kaur spoke up. "Mr. Stark, something has to be done about this man."

"Dr. Kaur is speaking for the civilian members of the project," Rhodey added.

"All of them?"

"By and large," the doctor replied.

"Hoo-boy," Tony said, leaning back in his chair and taking another look at the sheets in his hand. "Yeah, I need to have a talk with this boy."

Now Rhodey hinted at a smile. "I was hoping you'd say that, Tone."

"I need to have a talk with him right _now_."

"Music to our ears, sir," Dr. Kaur added. And _she_ was smiling broadly.

Tony blew out a breath, then got up from his chair. "All right, I'll go hunt him down. Okay if I hang on to these?" He held up the printouts.

"Sure, keep 'em," Rhodey said with a wave of his hand.

"And if there are any more problems with him, just let me know immediately and I'll get a bigger gun." He headed out to deal with the matter, and was pleased to overhear Rhodey say, "I _told_ you he'd take care of things" to Dr. Kaur as he left the room.

Bragg wasn't hard to find. Tony only needed to discern the busiest place in the building – which at present was a conference among some of the medical staff – and look for the one guy wearing Army dress greens and radiating disapproval. "Lieutenant Bragg!" he said in his best CEO voice. "Need to talk to you."

Bragg spun around like he was on casters and gave Tony a sharp salute. "Yes, sir!"

"In private." He made sure his voice carried; he wanted everyone around to know that the situation was being dealt with. And anyone who wasn't in earshot … well, the rumor mill would take care of that. "Now." He didn't wait for a response, simply turned and headed for the nearest empty office, trusting that Bragg would follow.

Which he did. When Bragg arrived, Tony locked the door and sat behind the desk. "Sit down, Lieutenant."

"I would prefer to stand, sir, if you don't m—"

"I do mind. Take a seat."

"Sir, I …"

Tony took his voice up a few decibels. "Do you want to finish this day above ground, Lieutenant? Or under it?" He didn't wait for an answer. "_Sit. Down._"

Bragg, for once at a loss for words, sat.

Tony held up the papers. "I have here a copy of your report to the Pentagon yesterday …"

Bragg began to interrupt. "Sir, that report is classif—"

Tony came out of his seat, leaned over the desk at Bragg – and this time, he was yelling like a drill instructor. "Did I ASK for your input, LIEUTENANT? And are you CAPABLE of shutting your DAMN MOUTH, or do I have to come over there and shut it FOR you?"

He took a deep breath, slowly sat, and continued. "As I was saying, I have here a copy of your report to the Pentagon yesterday. Said report was passed on to General Meade, who contacted Colonel Rhodes, who delivered it on to me. Want to know what General Meade had to say about it? Ahem …" He held up the first page of the printed e-mail. "'Rhodes. What is this mousefucker's major malfunction? Kick his ass so I don't have to. Meade.' He turned the paper around so Bragg could see it. "That's a quote, by the way."

Bragg, finally having gotten the hint, said nothing.

"And it seems to be the consensus opinion that over the last week, you have managed to cause a lot of trouble for a lot of people, including all your immediate superiors, while at the same time being a help to no one. An impressive feat, Lieutenant, but not one that I figure you want in your personnel file." He paused to let it all sink in. "Now, Lieutenant, I'm going to ask you a question, and this time I _do_ want you to speak. What were the responsibilities assigned to you as DoD liaison to Project Pegasus?"

Bragg swallowed twice and fiddled with a shirt button before speaking. Clearly, he didn't want to mess this answer up. "Observe and report on all activities pertaining to Project Pegasus, render assistance when possible, and make sure there are no misuses of Armed Forces personnel and facilities."

"All right. But looking over your report, I mostly find objections – and I'm using that term most charitably – regarding various people's failures to comply with the least significant details of U.S. Army procedures. Did you believe that fell under observing and reporting, or preventing misuse? Because I'll tell you, it sure as hell isn't rendering assistance to anyone, including yourself."

"Um … sir, at West Point, we …"

"Lieutenant, at the risk of belaboring the obvious, this is _not_ West Point. Project Pegasus is a joint military-_civilian_ project, being overseen by the Departments of State and Defense. Half of the personnel involved, including the head of this phase of the project – me – are _civilians_. Many of them aren't even U.S. citizens. And the other half are either Navy or Air Force. This base is Air Force, as is the military overseer for the project, Colonel Rhodes. Do you honestly think any of us give a flying rip about how things were done at West Point? For that matter, given the response to this" – he held up the papers again – "do you even think the people you're reporting back to care about how things were done at West Point?"

Michael Lee Bragg had the look on his face of a Renaissance astronomer who'd just read Copernicus for the first time. "I … suppose not, sir."

"I suppose not. Furthermore, this is a very high-priority project, one that has the personal backing of no less than your Commander-in-Chief – he himself spoke to me on the phone about it, in fact. I don't think _he'd_ be too pleased to hear that a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant not even six months out of the Academy is disrupting it, do you?"

Now Bragg looked like a member of the Light Brigade who'd just caught sight of the cannons to the left of him. "No, sir!"

Tony smiled. He had Bragg right where he wanted him – namely, massively outgunned and knowing it. "Lieutenant, stating it as delicately as I can manage, I think you've completely misunderstood your mission here. You've got some knowledge of the Civil War, I'd gather? When you have a little free time, research Lew Wallace's involvement at the Battle of Shiloh; it'll give you some idea of how misinterpreting an order can destroy a promising military career. And _he_ was a general."

"I … know about the Shunpike, sir." The young lieutenant had turned a color that Tony found hard to identify.

"So … here are your orders from here. Number one, you are going to apologize, privately, to everyone whose face you got into over the last week, telling them you were wrong to do so and will not repeat the mistake. Number two, you are going to apologize to Colonel Rhodes, not just for that, but for essentially going over his head with this." He tapped the papers again. "Number three, you're going to write up a whole new report and submit it to the Pentagon – and this time, you're going to give them the information they actually want. All clear so far?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Number four … did you bring any civvies here with you?"

"Um, no, sir."

"Had a hunch." Tony flipped over one of the pages he was holding, pulled out a pen and began to write on it. "Once you're done with numbers one through three, and you'd better get them done quick, I want you to sign out a car and go to this address." He slid the paper over. "It's where I get my casual wear from, and I have an account there. I'll call them and let them know that you're coming by and need a week's worth of outfits, business casual, and a couple pairs of shoes, and to put it on my tab." Actually, he realized, he'd have to call Pepper or Natalie and have _them_ ring the store – he'd always had one of them handle his purchases, and had the duds delivered to his house. It was only a happy accident he even knew the address. "I don't want to see that uniform again unless there's a formal ceremony that requires it. You can observe and report a whole lot better if you're not intimidating people with the olive drab."

"Th-thank you, sir …"

One more idea popped into Tony's head, and it was really too good to pass up. "Number five, in addition to apologizing to your opposite number from the State Department … you're going to ask her out to dinner tonight."

Bragg's face went three ways at once. "Uh, you want … I … uh … sir?"

"I happen to know that Ms. Sanborn has been through a rough patch lately, and that you got under her skin more than you did under anyone else's – including mine, which is saying something. You're both here as liaisons to a joint State-Defense project – she's State, you're Defemse – and it's about time the two of you got on the same page. Problems with that?"

There was only one right answer, and thankfully Bragg knew it. "No problems at all, sir." He actually seemed pleased at the prospect.

"Glad to hear it. Dismissed."

Michael got up to leave, and had his hand on the doorknob when Tony said, "One last thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"If I get one more complaint about you, Lieutenant, from anyone, about anything, I'm not going to be talking to you about it. I will be on the phone to Secretary Gates himself, and I _will_ make sure you spend the next several years as the highest-ranking potato-peeler in the United States Army. Do we have a meeting of the minds?"

Gulp. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now shoo." Bragg left to take care of his apologies, and Tony sagged in the office chair. That had gone as well as he could've hoped, but it had also sapped a lot of the energy he had left. And he still had guests to deal with in the afternoon …

He rested for a minute before ringing up Pepper and asking her to notify the clothier's that Bragg would be stopping by. Then he left the office and, as luck would have it, the first person he ran into was a grinning Rhodey. "Tony! I just had a very interesting conversation with our DoD liaison!"

Tony mustered up a return smile. "I should hope. Hey, Platypus, can you send an e-mail to your boss for me?"

"Yeah, sure. What should it say?"

"Something along the lines of, 'Meade. Ass kicked. Stark.'" Tony patted Rhodey on the shoulder, and went to see what else was going on.

* * *

But by 1:00, he was walking into his kitchen at home, where Pepper was nursing a cup of Constant Comment. "Hey, don't tell me they haven't arrived yet." He kissed her, then headed for the fridge. "Whoa. How did we end up with this many leftovers?"

"You kept forgetting to eat. And I kept remembering how my stomach feels. Do you want me to call the meal service and have them delay delivery for a couple of days?" Meals for the week were delivered on Tuesdays – originally set up by Pepper to work around end-of-week Tony Stark hangovers. Likewise, the maid service came on Mondays to clean up any weekend debauches, and the landscapers on Wednesday once Tony could stand the noise of lawn equipment again. He hadn't needed hangover protection for months now, but there'd also been no need to alter the schedule.

Tony dug out cartons of pineapple chicken and shrimp chow mein and a bottle of San Pellegrino mineral water. "Nah, just keep it the same, and if I find we're overloaded again, I'll have you … wait. You'll be in the hospital on Monday." His shoulders sagged. "Sorry, I forgot, I …"

"It's okay, Tony."

Tony sighed. "I don't know that it is. I shouldn't be forgetting about you like that. It's …" He didn't finish the sentence, instead setting down his hastily-assembled lunch and wrapping her in his arms where she sat. He wasn't sure who was supposed to be comforting whom at that point.

Pepper sniffled once before saying, "it's going to be okay, Tony. _I'm_ going to be okay."

"I know, I know. But still …"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," someone said from behind him.

Tony didn't move, only smiled ruefully. "Good afternoon, Agent Coulson." He buried his face in Pepper's hair and whispered, "you didn't tell me he was here already."

"We kind of got sidetracked," she muttered back, then raised her voice. "We'll be down in about five minutes."

"Thank you, Ms. Potts. I'll let Ms. Rushman know." And the sound of footsteps heading downstairs to the lab.

After a few more seconds, Pepper squirmed just enough to tell Tony to let go. "If it's any comfort, Mr. Impatient only arrived about ten minutes ago. Natalie was already down in the lab getting everything set up, so he decided to join her there." She squeezed his hand. "Go nuke your food."

"Got it," he said with a smirk and did just that.

Five minutes later, he was setting the cartons and bottle down in front of an even-more-impressive-than-usual array of six high-definition computer screens. "Each monitor is dedicated to one Prometheus-related incident," Natalie told the others, then began pointing to screens, starting from the left. "Iran … Pakistan … Afghanistan … Tajikistan … Burhanpur … Chennai. The toolbars at the bottom give you access to everything we have regarding each event. Some have more than others, but this is what we've collected. Everything's been catalogued through JARVIS, so if you aren't sure where to look for something, ask … him … and he'll put it on-screen."

Tony used his tongue to dig a bit of chicken out of a molar. "Okay, then. You ready, little buddy?"

"Aye, aye, Skipper," JARVIS replied dryly.

"Natalie, you take Iran and Pakistan; Pepper, the two from India. I'm in the center square with Central Asia. Agent Coulson, do what you do best – watch over our shoulders." Tony and the women sat down in front of their respective monitors and began digging for clues.

For the next twenty minutes, there was no sound in the room except the hum of the computer fans, the clicking of keys and mice, and an occasional query for JARVIS to bring something up on a screen. The quiet gave Tony time to think about what they knew – or had surmised – about their quarry, even as he searched for more. Whoever he was – and it was his gut instinct that Prometheus was a "he" – he was operating out of somewhere in Pakistan or western India, but wasn't affiliated with either government. He had the ability to get airborne and rain fire from the sky. He appeared to be using some form of fusion power. And he had a predilection for political prisoners, Christian churches and aid workers. From there, even as he sifted the evidence from Afghanistan and Tajikistan (and shoveled in his lunch), he let his intuition off the leash to see if it could fill in some gaps …

And then he heard Natalie say, "what is that? Wait, let me zoom in …"

Tony turned to look as Coulson came up behind Natalie and asked, "what's what?" He saw Natalie pull away slightly from her S.H.I.E.L.D. colleague, but filed it away for later.

"That, right there." She was pointing to a photo from the Pakistan prison break, specifically one showing the hole that had been made to allow the detainees to escape. "Look at it …"

Now all four of them were gathered around the monitor. "That section of the wall looks like it was … vaporized," Tony commented.

"Would that support your nuclear-fusion theory?" Coulson asked.

"It would, as a matter of fact."

"That's not what I meant, actually," Natalie continued. "I meant the writing next to it. This is Pakistan, but the writing uses the Latin alphabet, so I don't think it's signage from the facility …"

"And look how it's carved into the wall," Pepper chimed in. "Vaporized, like the hole?"

"Could be," Tony muttered. "But what does it say? Looks like random letters and numbers."

"I … S … 6 … I … colon … I," Natalie read. "Maybe it's a serial number of some sort?"

"Or some kind of code," Pepper tried.

"With that colon, it kind of reads like a Bible reference," Coulson volunteered.

They were all silent for a few seconds. Then Tony spoke up. "That feels right. Guy's protecting churches, rescuing Christian aid workers – he might be the type to leave a Scripture verse behind. And that could be I, S, chapter 61, verse 1, couldn't it?"

"It could." A smile spread on Natalie's face. "Yeah, it could! Another clue?"

"We can only hope," Tony said, pulling out his PDA and hitting speed-dial.

"Who are you calling?" Pepper asked.

"Ronny. He likes his Bible – I bet he'd know what 'I-S' would refer to … dammit. Busy signal. I'll try again later …"

"Wait – I know someone else who might know!" Now Pepper was standing and deploying her Blackberry.

"Who?"

"My friend Sue."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Sue?" he asked incredulously.

"Her grandfather was a preacher in Korea, and her father was an elder in a Pentecostal church … or was it Presbyterian? I forget."

"I'm kind of surprised – I wonder how they feel about her being a …" He caught himself just before he said "lesbian," realizing that the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents weren't privy to Sue Kim's – and more importantly, Pepper's – social life. "… an actress."

Pepper's facial expression seemed to say, _nice save_. "She is kind of the black sheep of the fami … Sue, hi! It's Ginny Potts … I'm doing okay, how about you? … well … no, it's okay. Listen, I have a favor to ask ... it's part of some research I'm doing. I found this odd inscription – I-S-61-colon-1. Could that be a, a Bible reference or something?" There was a long pause. "Uh-huh. Let me check." She covered the receiver. "She says I-S might be 'Isaiah.'"

Tony was on it. "JARVIS, what does Isaiah, chapter 61, verse 1 say?"

"My memory files include twenty-five different English translations of the Bible. Which would you prefer?"

Tony rolled his eyes. "Surprise me."

"Isaiah 61, verse 1, King James Version. '_The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me; because the LORD hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound._'"

"'Opening of the prison,' huh?" Tony mused. "Sounds fitting for the occasion …"

"I think I found another one." Agent Coulson was looking at the monitor set aside for the files from Iran. Like Natalie, he'd zoomed in on a picture of the break in the prison wall. "Try this one, Ms. Potts – L-U-4-colon-1-8."

Pepper took her cue. "Sue, we found another one – L-U-4-colon-18 ... okay, got it." She turned to Tony again. "L-U is the gospel of Luke, she's sure of it."

"JARVIS?" Tony prompted.

"Luke 4, verse 18. '_The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised._' In this passage, Jesus is quoting in part from Isaiah; thus, the similarity," JARVIS explained.

Tony thought for a moment, then made a snap decision. "Natalie – take Burhanpur; Phil, you handle Chennai, far right." Natalie wheeled her chair to the right, while Coulson took Pepper's vacated seat. "I'll do Afghanistan, then Dushanbe. Each of you, focus on the area where the fire fell and look for letters and numbers. Pepper, this'll take a few minutes – can you have Sue hold the line?"

"Actually, do you mind if I step out for a bit, until you finish the searches? That'll give Sue and I a chance to catch up, and then she can help us with all the rest at once, if there are any …"

It was likely only Pepper caught Tony's hesitation; despite all the evidence, he still felt a little uncomfortable about Pepper and Sue's continued friendship. "Uh, sure, that's fine. Stay in shouting distance," he replied somewhat tonelessly.

"No problem." She gave him a look of gratitude, with maybe a dash of don't-worry, before heading out.

Tony put it out of his mind and focused on the Afghan pictures. Sure enough, once he knew what to look for, it jumped right out: IS52:7, written over the cave where the aid workers had been held. "JARVIS – Isaiah again. Chapter 52, verse 7."

"'_How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation; that saith unto Zion, Thy God reigneth_'," Jarvis intoned.

That fit, too, given the mountainous location the aid workers were in. Whoever Prometheus was, he clearly had both an encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible and a rapier wit.

"Think I've got one at Chennai," Coulson said. "C-A-8-colon-7."

"No idea," Tony replied. "Hold on to it for when Pepper gets back. Aha." Now he was looking at the Tajik photos. "A-C-1-6-colon-2-6."

"And here's one from Burhanpur – N-E-4-colon-1-4," Natalie added. "Boy, I never thought I'd have a case that'd make me wish I'd paid more attention in Sunday school!" That got chuckles out of the men on either side of her.

Just then, Pepper poked her head in. "Any luck?"

"They've all got one – seems to be his trademark," Tony replied. He read them off to Pepper, who repeated them into her Blackberry.

Pepper uh-huh'ed and nodded for a minute. "Okay, A-C is definitely Acts, and she's pretty sure N-E is Nehemiah. But she has no idea what C-A could be – are you sure you read it right?"

"It's a capital C, capital A. No mistaking it," Coulson said with a head shake.

"Let's just table that one," Tony said. "Thank Sue for us, would you, Pep?"

"Sure thing." Pepper walked back out of the room – to continue her conversation, Tony surmised. _Don't let it distract you …_ "JARVIS – Acts 16, verse 26?"

"' _And suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken: and immediately all the doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed._'"

"Another prison-break reference," Natalie muttered.

"For another prison break. But how about protecting a church? Nehemiah 4, verse 14?"

"' _And I looked, and rose up, and said unto the nobles, and to the rulers, and to the rest of the people, Be not ye afraid of them: remember the LORD, which is great and terrible, and fight for your brethren, your sons, and your daughters, your wives, and your houses._'"

"Ehhh … kind of a stretch, but okay," Tony added.

"If I may, sir," JARVIS interrupted. "Could C-A perhaps refer to Canticles?"

"Canticles? Never heard of that one …"

"In the original Authorized Version of 1611, 'Canticles' was the name given to what now is usually referred to as the Song of Songs, or the Song of Solomon. The term is still used occasionally in the British Commonwealth."

Tony shrugged – it was worth a shot. "And Song of Solomon 8, verse 7 says?"

"' _Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it: if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be contemned._'"

"'Neither can the floods drown it' … well, he sure didn't let the floods drown that church building," Coulson mused.

Tony knew about Song of Solomon, if only by reputation. "And would I be right in suspecting that the verse, in this case, is being taken out of context?"

"So it seems, sir," JARVIS replied, as Natalie suppressed a snort of laughter.

"Okay, I think that's the extent of the Bible study. Unless we find another inscription, we need to focus on the rest of the evidence." And so they did, with Agent Coulson handling the Indian incidents in Pepper's absence, going back to being a floater once she returned. But no further surprises – or Bible references – were found, only confirmation of their previous theories.

A little after 4:00, with no more revelations in the offing and eyes beginning to get bloodshot, Tony called a halt to the investigation. After conferring with the others, he told JARVIS to spin down and save all the information, old and new, and copy it to a removable disk for Agent Coulson to take back to Nick Fury.

Coulson, for one, was less than pleased. "I came all this way, and all I got was some Bible verses."

"Not true," Tony replied. "He's clearly an English-speaker. It's likely he's a Commonwealth citizen, what with that 'Canticles' business. His religious bent is clearly more pronounced than we thought – that's a clue. We're getting a profile on this person."

"That's nice. We're getting a profile. But what we need is a way to get him out of our hair. I'll be more excited when we have that." Coulson picked up the flash drive and tucked it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. "I need to head back to Washington ASAP. Sorry to cut and run." And with that, he cut and ran.

Tony waited until he was gone before remarking, "he seemed a little testy."

"He doesn't like being turned down," Natalie explained. "Though, who does?"

"Turned down?" Pepper asked. "For what?"

"For a date."

"Huh?," Tony said, at the same time Pepper blurted out, "doesn't he know you have a boyfriend?"

"Well, he does now. It didn't sink in, I guess, 'cause he kept asking. Finally I threatened to report the conversation to Nick and he dropped it." Natalie sighed. "So if at any point I looked a bit tense this afternoon …"

Tony's eyes were wide. "Yeah, understandable. I didn't think he had that in him."

"That makes two of us," Pepper breathed.

"Three," Natalie added. "But I'm going to let it go. Phil had to head straight from some big-deal meeting on Capitol Hill on Friday to Norway, of all places, dealt with a top-secret S.H.I.E.L.D.-related brushfire there, flew back Sunday, and wasn't on the ground twenty minutes when Nick called and told him to be here today." She chuckled for a moment. "Knowing Phil, I'll probably find a big bouquet with an even bigger apology on my desk before tomorrow's over. He's under enough stress that I'll cut him some slack. This time."

"Things really are tough all over," Tony groaned.

"And when the going gets tough … the tough go home, bury their nose in a pint of Häagen-Dazs and watch their DVD of _For Love of Ivy_that just arrived from Netflix. So unless there's more work to be done here …"

"Nah, go ahead," Tony said with a wave toward the stairs.

"And I could use a nap, if that's okay," Pepper said, rubbing her eyes.

"Go for it. I understand completely."

Pretty soon, Tony was alone in the lab with his thoughts. Despite the extra clues, he felt no closer to figuring out who Prometheus was than he'd been three-plus hours before. And the urgency seemed greater – if for no other reason than because he wanted to get it solved and off his plate before both he _and _Agent Coulson cracked ...

* * *

The next day was Tuesday, and that meant he was in the office for the board "meeting" and the discussions with Ronny about the future of Stark Industries. He tried to keep his focus on the here and now, but while he was able to set thoughts of Prometheus aside (for the most part), there was also the matter of Pegasus. The doctors had told him that they'd call as soon as Adele was out of surgery, but that didn't stop him worrying.

Ronny, thankfully, was patient and helped him get back on track when necessary (about a dozen times). Natalie – who did, in fact, get the expected bouquet/apology from Phil Coulson before she'd even reached her desk that morning – did her best as well. At least, that was Tony's guess as to why she chose that afternoon to work with him on his post-November-8 interview schedule. (The first three went to _Barron's_, _Fortune_ – as thank-yous for debunking the _Business Week_ piece – and _Vanity Fair _– as a personal thank you to Christine Everhart for the heads-up on Gulmira that led to him uncovering Obie Stane's conspiracies.) But what was taking place at LAAFB was never far from his mind, and would not be chased.

Finally, with the little hand nearing the 6, he decided to give up the pretense and just head over to the base to wait there. But sure enough, as he and Happy were walking through the Stark Industries lobby to the limo, his PDA rang – Dr. Jonah Goldman. "She out?" Tony answered excitedly.

The doctor laughed before answering. "Yes, in several senses."

"Pardon?"

Another chuckle, then: "Lieutenant Carey is out of surgery, which as far as we can tell went perfectly. She is also out of consciousness – it'll be at least a half-hour before the anesthetic wears off. And I saw another 'she' – Dr. Kaur – a second ago, and she's also out … like a light. She was involved the entire ten hours, and when we finished, she scrubbed off, laid down on a cot and immediately fell asleep."

Tony's smile could have floodlit the entire lobby. "Well, she earned it. And the … attachment?"

"Seems to be working according to specs – though we won't really know until she wakes up. Getting the muscles hooked up was almost as difficult as the neural connections. But I did see some movement, a few twitches …"

"I'm on my way. Don't open the champagne just yet." He hung up, looked at Happy – who knew the basics of the situation – and did a fist pump. "Change of plans, big guy – instead of home, head over to L.A. Air Force Base."

"Will do, boss." And soon enough, they were on the road south. Stark HQ wasn't far from El Segundo, but traffic was typical for a Los Angeles weeknight, so Tony had plenty of time to call Pepper and share the tentative good news before they arrived at the main gate.

Inside, there was a three-outs-to-go-in-game-7-of-the-World-Series level of happy tension, as everyone milled around while awaiting Adele's awakening. There were, in fact, a few bottles of champagne set out on ice, along with one of ginger ale. "For people who can't drink … or shouldn't," Dara Sanborn explained with a self-deprecating smile.

"Good idea."

"I can't take the credit, actually," she replied, and jerked a thumb over toward a young man wearing a Hawaiian-print shirt and chinos. What with the absence of any gray-green in the ensemble, it took Tony a moment to realize who it was.

"Seemed the right thing to do, sir," Lieutenant Michael Lee Bragg added with a shrug.

"Well done," Tony remarked. "And looking sharp, I might add."

"Well, thank you, sir. And … thank you, sir."

"No problem – just glad we're all pulling in the same direction now. How did, uh, dinner yesterday go?" Tony continued, looking from one of them to the other.

"Went just fine," Dara replied. "Also, we found an extra underlying reason for … shall we say, the previous hostilities."

"That being?"

"Two of _my_ several-great-uncle Sanborns served in the Army of the Tennessee under William Tecumseh Sherman at Chattanooga," she said with a laugh. "One got a Minie ball in the arm there, too."

Bragg shrugged again. "Our folks have been shooting at each other for 150 years …" He (and she) were laughing too hard for him to continue.

"Mr. Stark!" Tony looked over his shoulder to find Lieutenant Forster, Adele's nurse, waving him over. "I think she's coming around …"

"On my way," he answered as the rooba-rooba of conversation in the room went up a notch.

A few minutes later he was appropriately garbed and scrubbed, and sitting at Adele's bedside in the recovery room, when she slowly opened one eye. "Mmmng .. h'llo."

"Good evening," he replied cautiously. "How are you feeling?"

"Awright. Still a bit muzzy." She paused, and her brow furrowed. "And my foot feels funny …"

"It, uh, it does?" Tony felt a smile creeping up on him.

"Yeah. A bit prickly – I guess it must have fallen asleep. Starting to get better, though …" Suddenly her eyes opened wide. "What am I saying, I don't have a foot!"

"You do now," Forster replied, and touched the button that slowly shifted the bed to a partial sitting position while Tony folded up the bottom of the sheet to expose …

Adele's mouth literally dropped open as she looked at her new right foot, done up to look roughly like the one she lost, right down to (as best JARVIS could match it) her skin tone. It obviously wasn't the original – while the color was awfully close, it didn't look like skin, and there were a few rivets and screw heads at strategic points – but it was better than even Tony could've imagined a month before.

"Think it'll do?" Tony asked.

Still gaping, Adele carefully wiggled her new toes and flexed her ankle. "Bloody 'ell," she breathed as an amazed smile began to grow on her face.

"There's a little swelling around the end of the stump, but that should go down by morning," Dr. Goldman said from behind Tony. "And you'll be taking anti-rejection drugs for awhile. But if all goes well, we may try having you stand on it as early as tomorrow."

Tears were rolling unchecked down Adele's face. "I don't believe it. It's working. I can feel … I can feel my foot!" She waved her hand toward it for emphasis.

"IT'S FUNCTIONING!" Dr. Goldman yelled back down the hallway, to be answered a few seconds later by the pop and ricochet of a champagne cork. And Tony thought he might pull a facial muscle, he was grinning so widely. _Bloody 'ell, it worked …_


	10. Chapter 10

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 10: Baby, What a Big Surprise

For a legal disclaimer, see the beginning of chapter 1; for a technical disclaimer, see the beginning of chapter 4.

A few quick notes on this chapter: The name "Sally Gowin" is based on Sally Wingo, the character Blythe Danner (Gwyneth Paltrow's mom) played in the movie _The Prince of Tides_. Pepper's reaction to Darvocet is based on my own experience with the same medication after some outpatient surgery a few years ago. And all the organizations Natalie mentions that track religious persecution are real and worth checking out. Not every country practices the freedoms of belief that those of us in the "West" enjoy, and there are many thousands of people being persecuted or in jail right now for doing nothing more threatening than following their own conscience.

Okay, off my soapbox and back to the story …

* * *

Within 24 hours, the doctors ran into a snag in Adele Carey's recovery from foot-replacement surgery. It was going far faster than they were prepared for.

Sure enough, by Wednesday morning the swelling had gone down, and Adele could not only stand on her new appendage comfortably, but had achieved full range of motion and as complete a sense of touch through it as she was likely to get. (Tony had done his best, but he still couldn't match evolution for packing the most sensory inputs into the smallest possible area.) And on Thursday, Tony showed up at Pegasus Project HQ only to be greeted by a grinning Adele on crutches – holding the left one tightly to her side with her elbow to compensate for her missing hand. "I'm impressed – they've got you up and about now?"

"No, 'they' don't," Adele replied archly. "'They' put the crutches in my sickroom, thinking I'd wait for 'them' before putting them to use. I didn't want to wait, so …"

"Adele!" It was Lieutenant Susan Forster, who was coming down the hall at full stomp. "Where the heck have you been? We've been looking all over for you!"

Adele's face was a parody of a sulking child's. "_Sor-_ry, _Mum_ …" she drawled.

Tony ran a hand down his face in an attempt to wipe the smile off it. "Adele, you need to work _with_ the medical staff. They're just trying to take care of you, keep you safe …"

Now Adele frowned for real. "I don't need anyone to keep me sa-a-a-a- …" She'd instinctively gestured with her left arm, in the process losing her grip on that crutch. As it clattered to the floor, she stumbled to compensate and smacked soundly into the hallway wall, back first, where thankfully she was able to catch her balance. "Uhhf. Well … perhaps on second thought …"

By now, Susan had caught up, with Dr. Mahmoud, one of Dr. Kaur's assistants, right behind. "Adele, why didn't you just tell us you wanted to take a walk?"

"Because I wanted to take it alone. I don't like being coddled."

Susan, Tony could tell, was fighting not to roll her eyes or yell. "So how did that work out for you?"

Adele's face was neutral. "Fine, until I got distracted." The she let her shoulders relax. "Oh, bum. I know, I was unsafe at any speed. Not sure what got into me."

"Post-surgical euphoria. It's normal. Tell you what – let's see if I can strap the left crutch to your arm and you can take another run at it. With company." Susan tapped herself in the chest with her thumb.

"All right," an abashed Adele replied after a moment's hesitation.

"Mind if I come with?" Tony asked, out of courtesy rather than necessity.

"Sure," both women replied, as Susan got herself situated under Adele's left arm.

As they walked back to Adele's room, Dr. Mahmoud said, "your timing was perfect, Mr. Stark – Dr. Kaur wanted to speak with you and Dr. Goldman about the schedule for the next surgery ..."

"I'm free this afternoon!" Adele called over her shoulder, leaving Dr. Mahmoud flustered.

_Post-surgical euphoria, indeed_, Tony thought. _Or just massive cockiness. Probably both._ "Well, her recovery from the _first_ surgery seems to be going well," he said with a smile.

"Perfectly," replied Dr. Kaur, who was standing with Dr. Goldman by the entrance to Adele's room as they went in. "And thank you for helping return our runaway."

"That was uncalled for!" Adele squeaked, then stopped. "Ah, I guess it isn't. Oh well, nothing for it." She hoisted herself up onto her bed with her right hand and left stump, extended her right leg and looked critically at her new foot, wiggling the toes. "I really should pop down to the chemist's and get some nail polish. Think pink would do?"

Dr. Kaur sat and pretended to give it some thought. "Well, how about we hold off until you can do both feet at once?" She turned to Tony and Dr. Goldman. "As the chief neurosurgeon on this project, I don't see any reason why we couldn't implant the new leg as soon as Saturday."

Tony's eyes widened. "That soon?"

"Aside from this morning's little jaunt, there haven't been any complications," Dr. Goldman remarked. "Both the replacement foot and the stump are holding up ideally. Were this the only surgery, we'd probably be starting to taper the anti-rejection drugs. And besides, the leg will be a less complex procedure – we're mostly working with the large nerve trunks rather than the smaller ones around the ankle."

"And now, we've had some practice," Dr. Kaur concluded. "We're looking at a six-, maybe seven-hour procedure."

"Oh, but Saturday? I was so hoping for a beach day," Adele mock-whined.

"I don't know about the beach," Tony mused. "These things are waterproof, I made sure of that – but sand abrading the veneer could be a real problem."

Dr. Kaur shrugged and smiled. "Oh, then we'll just get one of those little polishers one uses for model trains. She'll be right as rain." And they all shared a laugh.

* * *

It was a laugh Tony needed, as it turned out. Things at home were dead serious.

With her own surgery approaching, Pepper was decidedly subdued. It didn't help that she spent much of the day Friday at Cedars-Sinai undergoing a final series of tests, including more than the usual amount of blood samples. "Dr. Faisal just said she wanted the lab to check a couple of things," Pepper explained. "I'm not worried."

Tony had doubts about the last part, but kept them to himself.

Meanwhile, Natalie had been doing some research of her own, seeing if they could try to predict Prometheus' next target. She had gone through the lists of escapees from the three prison breaks and found that almost all of them had been jailed on religious charges – "organizing an illegal religious meeting" or "insulting the prophet Mohammed" or the like. That led to checking the latest news releases from Christian groups that specialized in calling attention to religious persecution. As it turned out, there were more organizations – and more persecution – than they had ever imagined.

So on Saturday, while Pepper rested up and Adele went under the knife again, Tony and Natalie sat in the basement and went through all the material she'd found, hoping for a clue. "Okay, I'm loading everything into JARVIS that I could find from the last four or five months – Open Doors, Forum 18, ASSIST News Service, Voice of the Martyrs, you name it. Even checked Amnesty International. We'll be able to sort by location, event, criminal charge, date and reporting organization." Natalie popped one CD-ROM out of a drive and dropped in another, then shook her head. "I work in the Department of Homeland Security. I've been in 33 countries. I read everything on foreign affairs I can get my hands on. And I didn't know about one-tenth of this stuff!"

"It does seem to be an underreported story," he said drily.

"Unbelievable," she said, shaking her head. "Makes me thankful to live in a country where you can believe – or not believe – whatever you want, without having to worry about the thought police busting down your door."

"Y'know, I think this is the first time I've ever heard you talk politics."

"Possibly." The computer beeped and Natalie swapped CD-ROMs again. "Okay. last one. But seriously, we do take that freedom for granted. There are still a lot of places in the 10/40 window where that's not the case. It's not just Iran and the more obvious rogue states – it's darn near all of …"

"Hold up a second. Ten-forty-what?"

"Oh, yeah. The '10/40 window' is a term used by Christian missions organizations to describe the least evangelized part of the world – basically the Eastern Hemisphere from 10 degrees to 40 degrees North, thus the name. Almost all the Muslim countries are in there, along with India, China and most of what we call the Far East. There are a few in that area – like Italy, Spain, South Korea – where there's already a strong Christian presence, but they're the exceptions." Natalie stopped and chuckled for a moment. "I've been spending so much of the last week looking through evangelical materials, I'm starting to pick up the lingo."

"You're not going to show up one day with big hair and heavy makeup, are you?" Tony said with a smirk.

"Not funny, sir." _Beep._ Natalie pulled out the CD-ROM. "Besides, I don't think that's a Christian thing so much as a nouveau-riche white trash thing. You see it a lot around Washington, and it crosses religious boundaries. Anyway, that was the last disk. JARVIS, you getting all of that sorted?"

"Five seconds," the computer responded.

"He's good," Tony remarked. "Okay, let's start with something simple. Give me a map of every incident we just put in. No, wait –we'd probably end up with a world map, wouldn't we?"

"Indeed, sir," JARVIS replied.

"Then let's narrow it down to the areas Prometheus has already struck. We figure his range is limited anyway. East-west, go from Iran to … uh, Bangladesh. North as far as … help me out, Natalie, I don't know my 'Stans very well …"

"Let's just include them all. North up to Kazakhstan – please, Tony, no Borat jokes – and south to Sri Lanka."

Tony looked at Natalie sidelong. "You caught me just in time."

She smiled slyly. "Had a hunch."

A map popped up on the largest monitor – actually a 76" plasma screen. The entire region was festooned with yellow stars, except in some of the places where there was almost no population.

Tony made a face. "That didn't narrow it down much."

Natalie nodded sadly. "I told you, there's a lot of bad stuff going on in that part of the world …"

"So you did. All right … JARVIS, keep the map up, but clear the decorations." The map went from mostly yellow to green-and-brown in an instant. "Now, put up yellow stars only for actual cases of imprisonment, orange stars for attacks or attempted attacks on churches …"

"… And blue stars for Prometheus' actions," Natalie finished.

JARVIS did as ordered. There were still an awful lot of stars. "How many is that, JARVIS?" Tony asked.

"Ninety-four, sir. Though six of them are, of course, duplicates – areas in the reports that later received visits from Prometheus."

"Eighty-eight cases of imprisonment for religious reasons, or attacks on churches. Since June 1 of this year." Natalie looked ill.

"Four months and spare change," Tony muttered. "That's horrible. Prometheus could basically take his pick. Makes you wonder why he's not doing even more …"

"I was wondering that myself. Did you notice how most of the events take place on Saturday, local time?"

"Yeah, come to think of it …" Tony snapped his fingers. "He's doing this on his day off. Works Monday to Friday, probably in a pew Sunday morning …"

"Is it a clue?"

"Damned if I know. But if my hypothesis is right, it would explain why he's not hitting the other eighty-some spots – he doesn't have the free time. And he's just become a lot easier to track." He looked at the map again. "I've got an idea. JARVIS, take down all but the blue stars." The yellow and orange ones vanished. "Okay … now give me a list of major cities within 1000 miles of every one of those sites."

"No cities qualify," JARVIS reported.

"Okay, make it 1200 miles."

"No cities qualify."

"Damn. 1400."

"Two cities qualify: Karachi, Pakistan and Mumbai, India."

Tony and Natalie sat in silence for several seconds. Finally Natalie spoke. "He's a Brit or something similar – Australian, maybe? He's working Fridays. And on Sundays he's in church. If all that's true …"

"… then it isn't likely to be Karachi," Tony finished for her. "We've got a day of the week. We've got a location."

"_Possible_ day and location," Natalie hastened to add.

"Over the years, Natalie, I've learned to trust my gut. This is definitely the right track. JARVIS … put up all the reports of imprisonment since September 1." Thirteen yellow stars came up on the map. "Now a circle, centered on Mumbai, radius 1400 miles. And take down all the stars outside the circle." A red circle popped onto the screen, and four of the yellow stars winked out.

"Nine likely targets," Natalie said.

Tony was about to agree when his PDA went off. He looked at the caller ID. Nick Fury. Oh, he was taking this call ... "Good timing, Nick," he answered.

"Oh, really. So you don't mind me spoiling your weekend all of a sudden?"

"If you're calling and saying Prometheus struck again, you won't be spoiling it, you'll be improving it."

Several seconds of static, and then: "Tony, you just keep getting weirder. Yeah, Prometheus did his damnedest today to piss me off, not to mention an entire Pakistani army battalion in Bannu – Pashtun country, up near the Afghan border. Kept them from going into a Catholic church where they claimed some al-Qaeda operatives might be taking refuge."

Tony wrinkled his nose. "Um … help me out here, Nick. What are the odds that a couple of fire-breathing sons of bin Laden would choose to hide in a Christian church?" The look on Natalie's face seemed to say, _zero or lower_.

"Look, Tony, we both know it's bullshit. The Pakistani army treats beating on the Pashtuns like it's a spectator sport. The point is, the breathing down my neck just got that much hotter. If you've got answers, I need them, and I need them now!"

"Well, I've at least got more clues." He related what he and Natalie had been doing, and had divined in the last few minutes. Then he stopped and looked at the monitor again. "JARVIS, put a blue star on Bannu, Pakistan." Sure enough, it was comfortable within the red circle – and not too far from two of the others, the sites of the aid workers rescue and the Pakistan prison break.

"So what do you think we should do next?" Nick inquired.

Tony wondered if he was getting The Look on his face again. "Nick, I want to go over there."

"What?"

"Nick, the next Saturday I can, I want to be in the suit and over Mumbai. I can find this guy, see what his deal is …"

"Tony, if you think you're going to railroad me into sending you and your damn suit out to the front lines on S.H.I.E.L.D. business, if you think I'm prepared to have you as anything more than a consultant right now, you've got another think coming."

"Not S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick. _Me._ This person's a renegade; he's not likely to trust anyone from any government. But me? I'm known for being a loose cannon, and I've got a recognizable face – he might be more willing to talk to me. Besides, at this point I'd be happy to do it on my own dime; I want to get to the bottom of this." _If only to get you off my back_, he didn't add.

Another pause on the line. "You that sure?"

"Yes, I am." He looked at Natalie, who nodded judiciously. "Natalie thinks it could work. And this one's on me – you don't even have to budget for it. I can fly out on a Thursday night, be in Dubai Friday, and be patrolling over Mumbai by Friday evening if necessary."

"Are we talking this coming week?"

Tony almost said yes, then caught himself – not with Pepper's surgery on Monday. And who knows where Pegasus Project would be seven days from now. He sighed. "Probably not this week." And he explained why.

"Okay, one last question. If I say no, no, hell no, not ever, you'll likely do it anyway, won't you?"

He couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, I suspect I will."

"You're gonna give me an ulcer someday, Tony."

"I thought you didn't get ulcers, you were just a carrier. Ow," he added as Nick slammed down what must have been a fairly heavy phone receiver. Then he recapped the gist of the conversation for Natalie, adding, "I think that was as close to permission as I'm likely to get."

"I think you're right," she said, her expression neutral. "You really think you can catch Prometheus?"

"Don't know about catching him. But I think I can talk to him. Who knows, maybe he really is doing God's work." Tony stretched and stood. "Stranger things have happened, right?"

* * *

But for now, and for most of Sunday as well, the only thing happening for Tony was a whole lot of waiting.

After a quick Sunday morning check-in at LAAFB (where Adele's recovery from surgery #2 was proceeding as rapidly as it had for surgery #1), he turned things over to Rhodey for the rest of the day so he could spend the time with Pepper. They watched football on television, had a quiet lunch and played a game of Scrabble – in which Pepper, as was customary, cleaned Tony's clock.

It was only late that afternoon, as Tony was driving Pepper to Cedars-Sinai to check in for her operation, that either of them became very verbal. "It's been a lovely day," she said, looking out the window at the descending sun.

"It has," he replied, taking his hand off the steering wheel to hold her hand.

"You still worried about this?"

Tony shrugged. "A little." Pause. "If it were happening to anyone else, I probably wouldn't be. But …"

The silence stretched for a while before Pepper spoke. "I love you too, Tony."

Tony smiled and blushed. "I wish I could just be sanguine about this – no pun intended. But I can't. I … I don't have any brothers or sisters, my parents are long gone. Obie … became what he became, and he's gone too. You and Rhodey and Happy are all the family I have, really. And when family hurts …"

Pepper nodded. "I know what you mean. For pretty much the same reasons."

A thought occurred to Tony. "Dr. Faisal mentioned that your, um, your condition was probably from one of your birth parents. I remember you were researching them …"

"I never told you?" After he shook his head, she continued. "Well, there isn't much to tell. My mother's name was Sally Gowin, and she was a sixteen-year-old drug addict. No one knew who my father was. Including Sally."

"Sheesh-oh-beesh."

"Quite. Thankfully, she had enough sense to know she had no business raising a child, so she planned all along to give me up for adoption – and stayed clean long enough to have me. Right after I was born, Orville and Annette Potts adopted me … and Sally went right back to what she'd been doing." She sighed before going on. "About a year later, her body was found in a drainage ditch outside Oxnard. Overdose."

Tony shook his head. "Oh, Pep …," he said sympathetically.

"And when I tracked down her parents, they'd both died a couple of years before. The only living relative I could find was a second cousin in Idaho – who wasn't the least interested in making acquaintances. That was that. I'm just glad Mom and Dad were there for me – and got married when they were too old to have kids of their own. So it's okay." She paused and looked pointedly at Tony. "And it's _going_ to be okay. Quit the worrying."

"You mean, like you quit worrying every time I put on the suit?" he said with a smirk.

"Not fair," she replied, and they both laughed.

All too soon, they were at the hospital entrance. "You know, if you want, I'll stay with you until …"

"Tony, I'll feel a lot better know that you're keeping busy, getting Adele back on her – new – feet, coming up with more ideas for Stark Industries … and staying out of the doctors' hair." She delivered the last part with a smile. "I promise I'll call you as soon as the anesthetic wears off, okay?"

"Okay." He hugged her tight, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. He hoped it wasn't for the last time. "I … I love you too, Virginia."

Pepper didn't say a word, but when she pulled back, the tears in her eyes were worth a thousand. "I'm going to be fine. We'll talk tomorrow." She gave his hand one last squeeze, got out of the car, grabbed her overnight bag and walked into the hospital.

And Tony, after gulping down a couple of deep breaths, drove home again to do some more waiting.

* * *

Pepper was right – keeping busy was just the tonic he needed to hold his fears at bay. Though he never stopped thinking about her for more than three minutes or so, at least he wasn't going crazy …

And there was plenty to occupy him, starting with the first real technical problem of the entire Pegasus Project – which mercifully was discovered just before Tony left home for LAAFB. "The thumb is just not working correctly," Zeke Atchison, the Stark Industries engineer whom Tony has seconded to the project, told him over the phone. "It thinks it's a fifth finger." That meant almost two hours rewriting the software for Adele's soon-to-be-new hand, transmitting it, testing it, re-testing and re-transmitting until the thumb started acting properly opposable.

Then Charles Elachi from JPL called (again, just as Tony was heading for the door) and wanted to talk about the potential of a Stark-produced VTOL vehicle for NASA. They spent about twenty minutes on that subject, then another twenty shooting the bull on everything from the scuttlebutt among NASA execs to the McCourt divorce case and how it might affect the Dodgers' chances the following year. (_Always important to keep potential customers happy_, he reminded himself as the conversation stretched on.)

After that, Tony told JARVIS to forward all calls to the house to his cell phone, and dashed out the door before someone else could electronically waylay him. No one did, which meant the drive from Malibu to LAAFB was accomplished in relative peace.

Which ended as soon as he got in the door of Pegasus headquarters. "What took you so long today?" Rhodey asked before he'd taken three steps.

"In my country, Platypus, it's customary to start with 'good morning.' What's the latest crisis?"

"No crises, Tone – just worrying about you. Babysitter's prerogative. Any word on Pepper?"

"Not yet. I'm promised a call as soon as she's able. But take my mind off that – what's gone on in my absence?"

"Well, Bragg's weekly report went to the Pentagon without incident. Zeke said he was having some problems with the thumb …"

"He called me. I think we got it straightened out, but I'll double-check with him and the docs."

"Okay. And speaking of the docs, they want to shoot for Wednesday on the hand implant –"

"Wow. They're in a rush …"

"– contingent on your approval, and provided the hand is working properly. And Adele's recovery is going great; the physical therapist took her outside for a little workout."

"Then I should probably go there first. Point the way."

Los Angeles Air Force Base didn't have a lot of open space – its function was largely administrative – but there was a small parade ground, just a square of asphalt. With Rhodey following him, Tony went out the door to the parade ground …

… just in time to have something about the size of his head whiz past him and carom off the side of the building. "What the … ?"

"Sorry!" someone called from his left. He caught his breath and turned to find Adele jogging up. She was wearing a Wolverhampton jersey and shorts, her new leg and feet, and a look of acute embarrassment. "Aim was a bit off. Working on it, though …"

"Yeah. See that you do. Damn." He heard Rhodey behind him swallow a laugh. "So I guess the new leg is working about as well as the old one?"

"Oh no," Adele replied with a grin. "Better."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Really!"

"Oh yes! In school I always had to play right side of the pitch, I was so extremely right-footed. I couldn't get a decent shot off with my left before – just couldn't generate the power. But now …" She waved an arm past Tony, to where Dara was slowly dribbling the soccer ball – the unidentified flying object that had almost taken him out a moment before – back to her. "Not to mention I don't have to worry so much about pulling a leg muscle."

Dara gave the ball one last kick, passing it to Adele, before stopping, leaning forward with her hands on her knees and gasping for air. "Jeez, girl, watch where you point that thing! I thought I was gonna … gonna have to go all the way to the beach … to retrieve it. And that … wasn't the first one … gahhh." Tony could tell she wasn't faking it, either – her own jersey (an extra-large U.S. national kit with "BOCANEGRA 3" on the back) was soaked with sweat.

Just then, Lieutenant Bragg came up. He was still holding to Tony's new dress code for him – in this case, a polo shirt, tan Bermudas and Chuck Taylors. "Good morning, sirs! Dara, you okay?"

"I will be," she groaned.

"You know what – I'll shag flies for you for a while. I used to play lacrosse at the Academy, so the running's no problem."

Dara looked up with a huge smile. "Michael, you're an officer and a gentleman." She took his hand for a second, causing Tony's other eyebrow to lift. "Hear that, Adele? Bragg in for Sanborn. I need to go chug some Powerade …" She staggered into the building, while Adele and Bragg – _Michael_ – headed back to the makeshift soccer pitch.

They were replaced in Tony's vicinity by the physical therapist, a tall, wiry woman in a Navy T-shirt and blue jogging shorts. Her face was set in a permanently scowl, which Tony had found belied her pleasant demeanor. "Can you freaking believe that?" she remarked in a thick Joisey accent, waving toward Adele. "Not forty-eight hours after surgery, and she's Lionel freaking Messi."

"Minus the aim," Tony replied with a smirk.

"Well, yeah. But still – I'm supposed to be doing physical therapy with this broad, and what am I gonna work on? She's healthier than I am!" She put her hands on her hips and sighed. "And it's October, so I'm missing the leaves turning back east."

Rhodey crossed his arms. "Didn't I hear something about the Eastern seaboard just getting its first snow of the year?"

"Eh, there's that. Well, I guess I'd better go keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't, I dunno, throw a piston rod or something … ah, there she goes again!" Adele had once again sent the ball off in a long and unplanned trajectory; Bragg was giving chase. "It's like she's firing 'em out of a freaking cannon …" She ran off to help Bragg track down the errant projectile.

Tony's smirk got wider. "I love the smell of a successful project in the morning …"

"Smells like victory," Rhodey finished the bowdlerized quote for him.

And as the morning turned to afternoon, the feeling of success continued. Tony and Zeke ran diagnostics on the replacement hand, first to their own satisfaction and then for the doctors. The fingers' reaction time was a hair slower than Tony would've liked – the same issue he was having with the gauntlets on his suit – but not slow enough to cause a serious problem. The M.D.s (now beyond enthused with Adele's progress) pushed for Wednesday to schedule surgery #3, and Tony, having no reason to oppose it, told them to go ahead.

That meeting had just wrapped up when Tony's PDA buzzed. He checked the screen and saw immediately that JARVIS had not only routed the call to him, but had identified its source: Cedars-Sinai. "Be good news," he said as he answered it.

Dr. Faisal was on the other end. "It is, Mr. Stark, it is. Ms. Potts' surgery was a success – we were able to widen the constricted segment of her left carotid artery, and the repairs are holding up. She's definitely looking at a few weeks of rest and recuperation, but she should be able to go home by Wednesday afternoon."

"That's … that's great!" He felt himself getting slightly misty, and let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"However, there is one complication …"

"Complication?" Tony felt his hands tense.

"… but since she's awake, I'm going to let her tell you. I do warn you, however, she is on medication for the pain, so she may seem a little … different at the moment." Tony heard the sound of the phone being passed to someone else.

And then, an ethereal-sounding voice: "Tony?"

"Hey, Pep."

"Hiiii …"

"Hi." Tony had never dealt with a stoned Pepper Potts before. It was endearing and disorienting at the same time. "How you feeling?"

"Really nice. They've given me this IV … of Darvocet." She paused for a moment, then added with a giggle, "Darvocet is _wunnerful_ …"

Tony tried hard not to laugh. "I gather you're feeling no pain."

"None at all, none at all," Pepper confirmed spacily. "Although … I am a little, teeeeensy bit worried … about the baby ..."

"Oh, well, that's understandab … wait, about the _what_?"


	11. Chapter 11

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 11: Alone Again, Unnaturally

See the beginnings of chapters 1 and 4 for the disclaimers, if you're into that sort of thing. If you're not, don't sweat it …

* * *

It wasn't until 11 p.m. Monday evening, while he was sipping his pre-bedtime glass of whiskey, that Tony felt the state of shock in which he'd spent much of the day begin to lift.

A baby.

Pepper was pregnant. She was carrying a baby. _Their_ baby.

Egads.

Everything fit into place now, like a perfectly designed circuit: Pepper's nausea, her swelling feet, her odd mood swings, her slightly increased tiredness. Neither of them had put the clues together – maybe because they were too busy with projects, with Stark Industries, with each other. And maybe because they had just been in denial.

But there it was. More to the point, there _he or she_ was. Their baby.

Their possibly damaged baby ...

Dr. Faisal had confessed to both he and Pepper that she didn't really know what she was looking for when she ordered that final set of blood tests on Friday; she just knew that those symptoms weren't caused by Coumadin (as Pepper had been theorizing), and was playing a hunch that something else was afoot. Possible pregnancy was only one of many things the lab had checked for. And then the lab results didn't arrive at Dr. Faisal's office until Pepper's surgery was almost done, so the doctor didn't see them until shortly before Pepper roused.

And if she'd known, she would never have prescribed the Coumadin. Because while Coumadin's side effects did not include swollen ankles or sour stomach, they did include a high risk of birth defects, and for that reason it was never given to pregnant women. Ever.

Except that no one had had any reason to think Pepper was expecting when Dr. Faisal wrote out the slip for the pharmacy. In fact, a week after her heart attack, Pepper'd had her period – a shorter-than-normal one, but Tony had a sensitive enough nose to be aware of it. At that point, the embryo growing inside her was maybe two weeks along, and it wasn't unusual for women to have one or two more cycles after conception …

… and now what? Take a chance and possibly bring into the world a child that would be forever at a disadvantage? Or …

Tony took another sip of Laphroaig. As conservative as he was on some issues, he was a libertarian when it came to abortion. It was legal, the choice was left to the individual parent or parents, so leave them alone and let them choose, for crying out loud. But now the choice was his and Pepper's – primarily Pepper's; it was her womb, after all …

… and he didn't know what to choose. The joy of having a little one to take care of, of beginning the next generation of Starks, was up against the possibility of congenital conditions and the responsibility involved in raising up that next generation.

There was small consolation in the knowledge that Pepper didn't know what to do either.

They had talked again after the Darvocet dosage had been reduced enough to allow her to return to Earth. She put up a brave front, but Tony had been paying attention and picked up just how scared she was – both about the prospect of being mother to a disabled child, and about the prospect of being a mother, period. Not to mention having to prepare for it while recovering from heart surgery, and then returning to work …

… and putting up with him, she didn't say. But he still thought about it.

With so much up in the air, he hadn't talked with anyone else about it except Dr. Faisal, who said that the OB/GYN department at Cedars-Sinai were running more tests to check the baby's viability. But there was only so much one could check with a fetus that was only a month and a half along. And in the meantime, they weren't telling anyone – not Rhodey, not Ronny, not Happy or Natalie or Sue Kim.

An understandable precaution. But it also meant that Tony didn't have anyone to talk to about it.

He drained his glass and shrugged to himself. Then he put the tumbler in the sink and headed off to stare at the ceiling – he didn't figure on sleeping much tonight.

* * *

Sure enough, he didn't get much sleep that night, or the next. But he still managed to function well enough to participate in the Stark Industries board videoconference Tuesday morning, to work with Ronny for much of that day (Ronny seemed to be putting his occasional distractedness down to pining for Pepper's return home), and to supervise Adele's recovery from the third (and hopefully final) implant surgery. It wasn't going quite as quickly as the first two – but then, people expect more of their hands than they did of their feet, so that was bound to happen.

And he was still able to drive to Cedars-Sinai Wednesday afternoon to pick up Pepper after her discharge. He'd thought about having Happy drive him over in the limo and bring them both back, but something told him they'd want to be alone for this trip …

"Oh, I'm glad to be out of there!" Pepper said with a sigh as Tony dropped her bags into the back seat. "Even the nicest hospital is still a hospital. Oh, and thanks," she added, wiggling the little "get well soon" teddy bear that on impulse Tony had purchased from the Cedars-Sinai gift shop before going up to get her.

Tony shrugged. "Felt wrong not to bring something. And I knew strawberries were out, so …"

Pepper smiled at the memory of his previous gifting faux pas, and gave the stuffed animal a little squeeze as if to say, _much better this time_.

But they were both quiet as he took La Cienega to I-10, as if neither of them wanted to bring up the tiny new elephant in the room. It wasn't until they were approaching the turnoff to the Pacific Coast Highway that Pepper nervously spoke. "Tony … I need to ask you a favor."

"Sure, what is it?" Tony heard his voice and it sounded nonchalant, which was a mercy, as he also felt his hands tense on the wheel.

"I …" She sighed before continuing. "Could … could you drop me off at my place?" Even though Pepper was spending most days and nights at Tony's, she hadn't yet gotten rid of her condo in Pacific Palisades, closer to Stark headquarters than Tony's estate in Malibu..

"No problem. What, you just need to pick up a few things?"

Pepper shook her head. "No. I …" She burst into tears, unable to go on.

Tony was thankful that they were right alongside Santa Monica State Beach; plenty of room to pull over. He did it quickly and took her in his arms. "It's okay, what's wrong, what's wrong …"

It was a couple of minutes before Pepper regained enough composure to answer his queries. "I'm sorry, it's just … so much has happened the last few months … heck, the last couple of years … and now a baby? … and it feels like my head is going to explode, trying to sort it all out, trying … to figure out what I'm supposed to do, who I'm supposed to be … I'm sorry, I'm not making much sense …"

"Actually, I think you're making perfect sense." To say he knew how she felt would be no exaggeration.

"And … and I don't want to leave you alone, but … I just need a few days by myself to, to clear my head, to decide what …"

The full meaning of "drop me off at my place" hit him like a steel bar to the forehead. She wasn't coming home with him tonight … "Um … how many days is 'just a few'?"

"A week at the most, I promise. I feel bad for asking, but right now I really need some space. I'm sor-"

"No, no," Tony interrupted. "You don't have to apologize. You need space, that's okay, you need space. Are you gonna be all right, though? What with …" He tapped his chest over his heart.

"I should be. If worse comes to worse, I live two blocks from an ambulance company. Remember the times you called me at home and you always heard sirens in the background? So … I should be fine." She sighed and dabbed her face with a tissue. "Thanks for being so understanding. I was so worried you were going to be pushed out of shape about me not coming back with you."

Well, as a matter of fact, he was … but he'd be damned if he was going to let her know it. This was supposed to be the "new Tony," right? Much as he wanted to play Linus van Pelt and hold on to his Pepper security blanket, he knew it wouldn't leave a good impression. "Hey, you do what you gotta do."

Pepper sniffled daintily, then smiled and put her hand over his. "Thank you. For being so good about this. You really have grown a lot these last few months."

_Not as much as I'd like._ "Well … let's get you over there, then." He put the Audi into gear and pulled back onto the highway. "Do you … need me to, I dunno, bring over some groceries? Everything in the fridge has probably turned by now ..."

"No, that's okay. The local Von's delivers, and I've got all kinds of takeout menus. I'll be okay. Just …"

Tony nodded mechanically. "I know. Space."

"It'll just be a few days, I give you my word."

Tony didn't trust himself to speak, simply nodded.

Too soon, they were there, and Pepper gave him a good hard kiss before getting out and going up to her condo. And then … and then it was just him, heading back home. By himself. And with the topic of the moment – their baby – still undiscussed.

As he got back onto the PCH, he heaved a huge sigh. Sometimes, being the "new Tony" sucked donkeys.

* * *

But he decided to continue using Pepper's good advice from Sunday – keep busy. And with a Pepper-less rest of the week yawning like a canyon in front of him, he knew just how to do that.

Ironically, that meant starting with something Pepper usually did: making calls. First one was to Happy, letting him know he needed to keep an eye on the house for a few days. The second was to the captain of his private jet, telling him he'd be requiring his services tomorrow and to inform the rest of the crew. And the third was to a number in the United Arab Emirates. "Fatima – time to pull the dropcloths off the furniture! I'm headed your way."

"Hello, Mr. Stark! Good to hear from you - are you on the plane right now?" Fatima was the housekeeper at Tony's villa in Dubai, which he used as home base whenever he had dealings in the Middle East. She was a sixty-something widow with four grown sons (three of which were employed in one Stark subsidiary or another) and was as trustworthy as a hundred-year-old oak.

"No, I'm not en route just yet. I should be arriving … hang on." He covered the receiver and spoke to the ceiling. "JARVIS, time difference between here and the U.A.E.?"

"The United Arab Emirates are eleven hours ahead of Pacific Daylight Time, sir."

Eleven hours … the flight from L.A. to Dubai usually took about fifteen … he was leaving Thursday mid-afternoon … "Okay, I should show up early Friday evening. But it's a business trip, so no need for heavy prep – I'll probably just gobble dinner, hop into the suit and off I go."

"Ohhhh, _that_ kind of business!" she replied with a chuckle. "Do not worry, Mr. Stark, I'll have everything dusted and ready for you when you arrive. Including my lamb kebabs," she added with a little song.

Tony's mouth began to water – Fatima made the best lamb kebabs he'd ever tasted. "Thank you, dear lady – I'll see you then!" They said their goodbyes and hung up, and Tony found that he was already feeling much better. Nothing like a project to tackle to put him in a better mood.

Of course, now he needed to make some arrangements regarding that other project …

* * *

… which meant a tense Thursday morning conversation with Rhodey. "C'mon, man, I understand taking Sunday off to be with Pepper before she goes under the knife. But bagging on us twice in one week?"

"Platypus, I'm not 'bagging' on you – I have some S.H.I.E.L.D. business to take care of, out of the country, and this is the best time to do it."

"The 'best time to do it' is not in the middle of the damn project!"

"Look, everything has been going great – and don't tell me about Murphy's Law; I'm an engineer, which means Murphy and I are on a first-name basis. We haven't had anything resembling a crisis since this started. The biggest problems we've faced are Bragg's attitude – which you'll note is wonderful right now –"

"Thanks to you." Rhodey's voice lost some of its edge.

"You're welcome, but I have no doubt you could've dealt with it if you'd had to – and Adele Carey's over-enthusiasm, which is only a problem in the loosest possible sense. If all works out, I'll be back by Saturday evening; worst-case scenario, late Sunday. This vehicle is running smoothly – you're telling me you can't take the wheel for two or three days?"

Rhodey's annoyance began to dissipate. "Okay, okay. But how am I supposed to baby-sit you when you're on the other side of the world?"

Tony shrugged. "Well, I guess you get some time off from diaper duty, then."

Adele, when he let her know later, was more sympathetic. "I understand – CEO, inventor, crime-fighter, and then all this. Must be tough, having to wear all those hats. Though I suppose taking time off from the corporate bigwig bit helps."

"A little – though I'll be resuming that in about a month. Still, at the rate you're progressing with the replacement parts, I might not have to put in that much time over here anymore."

"Ohhh, but I'd _miss_ you," she replied. "I'll have to start making up malfunctions to keep you around – 'you must stay, my framistan is defoliating …'" She laughed, but in such a way that Tony wasn't sure she was entirely joking.

Regardless, he decided not to rise to the bait, real or imagined. "I'll still be available for emergencies – real ones – and Zeke can stay on to do minor tweaks for as long as you're in L.A. Speaking of tweaks, how's the thumb? We had some issues with it in testing …"

"Thumb's working fine, far as I can tell." She held up her new hand and flexed the aforementioned digit. "It's still odd, not being able to feel things as intensely. And it seems like these fingers move … well, just a hair slower than my natural ones …"

Tony nodded sourly. "Yeah, I have the same problem with the gauntlets on my suit. Must be a software issue, but I still haven't found the glitches. I will keep working on it, I promise – for both our sakes."

"I appreciate it, Tony – thank you."

"Hey, just doing my part. And if you keep doing your part – getting back your full range of abilities – that'll make my job easier."

"Well, glad to be of service," she replied with a smile.

Just then, the physical therapist called her from the doorway. "Hey, Adele – ready to try some hoops? Break a little sweat?" She was holding a basketball.

"On my way." Adele got up, then added. "And if there's any other way I can be of service to you … do let me know."

"Will do," Tony said casually as she left, and thought no more of it. His mind was already on the plane he had to catch.

* * *

But once he was on his private jet, and the jet was in the air, he needed other things to occupy his thinker. He'd brought with him a laptop full of proposals, memos and random suggestions for potential new Stark Industries ventures, figuring that would at least keep him busy until it was time to sleep. But he found his attention drifting, and after a few hours, when the flight attendant brought in dinner, he set it all aside.

And after eating, he felt no urge to pick it up again. Instead, he began to pace around the huge cabin, occasionally looking out the windows. A Los Angeles-to-Dubai flight meant going over the Arctic – Great Circle route and all that – so the view at the moment was of the ice-buried wastes of northern Canada in twilight. It didn't help his somber mood.

He sat down again and let his thoughts drift to the baby. Or maybe The Baby, large as the barely-formed little fetus was looming in his mind. What was it about the whole scenario that bothered him? It wasn't the chance of birth defects – he felt like that could be dealt with, given the proper application of money and medical expertise. It wasn't the possibility that Pepper might choose to terminate the pregnancy; that would more or less leave them back where they had been. (Besides, he had a hunch – albeit nothing more – that she wasn't likely to take that route.) It wasn't even the surrender of free time and energy that raising a child would involve; he was willing to make that sacrifice, whereas his father …

"Ohhh …" he suddenly said aloud to the empty room. Was _that_ it?

In spare moments over the last few months, not always consciously, Tony had been slowly coming to terms with his relationship with Howard Stark. Or the lack thereof. Howard hadn't been some asocial tech geek who avoided dealing with people – he was known by his colleagues as genial, outgoing, with a dry wit and a backslap or kiss on the cheek for everyone he met. But with his only child, it was another story – there was always a distance that Tony had found hard to bridge. Dad never took him on walks or played catch; when he'd wanted to learn how to ride a bike or play cards or even swing a baseball bat, it had fallen to his mother to teach him. The only times the man and boy ever bonded was when they worked on projects together: building a remote-controlled plane, writing code for a computer program, the endless upgrades and tune-ups of Dad's Audi F103 …

Tony found he was no longer angry at his father's seeming neglect. Howard Stark was already in his forties before he got married, was 45 when Tony was born, and in many ways could never adjust to family life. To the end of his days, even as head of a fast-growing defense contractor, part of him was always the bookish bachelor, content to do his job, teach the odd university course and tinker in the basement. A child wasn't unwelcome, exactly, but … it was a distraction, an added component that he never figured out how to include.

And deep down, Tony mused, maybe he always felt someone else could do a better job at raising little Anthony than he could … whether it was his wife, a nanny, or the teachers at the boarding school. By the time he'd finally warmed up to the idea, Tony was fourteen, had already completed high school, and was being offered a full-ride scholarship to MIT, his first choice of college. The last had been an act of rebellion by the son, and a bitter pill for the father – turning down offers from Cal-Berkeley (where Howard had studied under Robert Oppenheimer) and Cal Tech (where Howard occasionally taught), instead heading for the opposite end of the country. The ship of fatherhood, in the teenage Tony's view, had sailed.

_But I'm in my mid-forties now. I'm the lifelong bachelor. What if I can't do any better a job than Dad did? Am I going to dump all the responsibilities on Pepper, like Dad did on Mom? Will my son or daughter have to deal with an endless series of au pairs while I hide behind my latest invention? Or worse, will I meet a missile I can't dodge, and end up nothing to my son or daughter except a vague memory and a shelf full of awards?_

Tony thought of the famous picture of John-John Kennedy, waving as the casket holding his own father (a man with whom Howard Stark had been on a first-name basis) rolled by, and shivered.

He rubbed his tired eyes. _If I'm going to have a child, I want to _be there_ for them. But am I even capable of it, with no example to follow? And if I'm running the company and flying off to battle evil and … who knows what else, will I have anything left for little Anthony or Antonia? What will I be giving them besides the Stark name and Stark genes?_

A whole lot of questions. And he had no answers. Except one: to be a better father than his father, if possible.

An hour later, the flight attendant was surprised to find Tony already asleep, his face knotted in worry.

* * *

When the jet landed in Dubai, it was 6 p.m. Friday local time, but Tony's body clock said 7 a.m., and he wasn't about to try and reset it for such a short stay. He'd managed to stow the concerns of the previous night in a convenient mental cubbyhole for later, and had already worked in an hour of calisthenics and free weights, a shower and two cups of espresso. Literally, he wanted to hit the ground running.

His Dubai car, a blinding-white Audi R8, was waiting for him as he disembarked, and he hopped in and tooled the twenty miles to his villa on the Persian Gulf coast. Fatima already had the kebabs ready, and by 7 he'd wolfed them down, given the appropriate compliments to the chef, been bolted into his suit (over the last two years, he'd outfitted all of his estates with the same suit-assembly system he had in his basement) and was in the air, headed east.

Once at cruising altitude, he linked the suit's nav system to a Stark satellite in equatorial orbit, which hooked him up with JARVIS. "Hey there. Any crises I need to handle?"

A second of static, due to satellite lag, and then: "Not to my knowledge, sir."

"Any messages of note?"

"Nick Fury called to wish you good luck. The full message is much saltier and contains a few vague threats, but 'good luck' is the gist."

"Thanks for the editing job. Any from Rhodey?"

"None, sir."

"Good." He paused before continuing. "Any from Pepper?"

"None, sir."

Tony swore quietly under his breath, then said, "if she calls while I'm in the suit, patch her straight through to me, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right, then – just keep tabs on me. I'm off to work." He kicked the suit into a higher gear, and left the sound barrier behind.

The route from Dubai to Mumbai was mostly over water, and between that and the darkness deepening as he left the sun behind, there was little scenery to occupy him. He found himself rifling through the worries of the previous evening again, without making any more progress. It was a relief to see the lights of Mumbai approaching.

And then, as he neared the coast, a different sort of light rose in the sky east of the sprawling city. A light that looked more like a stray star than the fluorescent glow from the hotels and call centers below. It was headed northeast and rising fast … but not as fast as he was moving.

_Prometheus. This was almost too easy._

Locking on to the target, Tony moved to intercept.


	12. Chapter 12

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 12: Empty

For those wonderfully entertaining disclaimers, see the start of chapters 1 and 4. My apologies for the time it took to get this section up – I had cataract surgery last month, and that tends to slow you down a bit. Plus, it was just a long, difficult chapter to write …

A couple of author's notes: the Heinlein quote is from his novel _Friday_, possibly the best of the Commodore's later works. (I disagree with RAH's – and Tony's – view on the subject, but in writing for the character of Tony Stark, I have to on occasion remind myself that his opinions will not always be mine.) And the first part of this chapter is dedicated to "Gideon" (part of the inspiration for Prometheus) and all his mates in Ennzedd. You gave me a home of sorts for several difficult years, and I'm grateful.

Now strap yourselves in, 'cause this is gonna get bumpy …

* * *

Tony was within a thousand feet of the streaking fireball before, even with the zoom function in his faceplate, he could make out any details. But once he did …

The fireball appeared to be enclosing a minimal framework, basically just a platform with handles in front set at chest height. And there was a person standing on the platform, all right – one who appeared to be wearing, of all things, an off-white Stark Industries Haz-Tech suit with the optional oxygen tank attachment. The Haz-Tech line had been the first commercial result of all the time Tony had spent on his own suit – it was lightweight, relatively inexpensive, and built to handle almost any hazardous environment. And it had sold like hotcakes, which had made the Stark board happy at a very crucial time.

He'd come all this way to find Prometheus, only to discover him wearing one of his own products. He would've laughed if he hadn't had to dodge first.

"Whoa!" Something fiery came streaking by Tony, from either Prometheus' hand or the machine he was riding. It missed by about six feet, making him think it may have been intended as a warning shot.

Tony wasn't looking for a fight, though. Instead, as he closed to about three hundred feet, he held up two fingers on his right gauntlet. _Peace?_

Prometheus' head was turned in his direction. He didn't signal back, but he also didn't shoot at him again.

So far, so good. Tony held his distance, but pointed at Prometheus, then at himself, and then opened and closed his right gauntlet as if it were a mouth moving. _You and me, talk?_ He hoped the hand signals worked – he figured he could probably muscle the guy out of the sky, but it would make a lousy first impression.

The person in the Haz-Tech suit turned away, seeming to look over the opposite side of his vehicle. Then he looked back, waved his arm in a follow-me gesture, and banked down and away.

Tony let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and followed him down. One way or another, the mystery was about to be solved.

Prometheus landed his craft on a flat bare rock, far away from any habitation. As Tony came in for a landing a few yards away, he realized why the rock had been chosen; it was actually glowing due to the heat it absorbed from Prometheus' vehicle. Had to be fusion to generate that kind of temperature. But the craft itself looked unable to make it happen – there was enough moonlight to reveal that it was about the size and shape of an exercise treadmill, albeit with different materials (the body was constructed of something white and glossy). It did have two detachable nozzles mounted on the handlebar, but those seemed more likely to be the fire-shooting devices than the engine for such a contraption.

Inside his suit, Tony couldn't help but smile. That thing was a nice piece of engineering. He couldn't wait to meet the one who'd built it.

After about a minute of waiting for things to cool down (literally), Prometheus stepped off the platform and came walking over, stopping a couple of feet in front of Tony. He – _definitely he _– was almost a head taller than Tony and probably built like an outside linebacker; the Haz-Tech suit he wore was one of the larger models. It didn't have any weaponry, but it was still just as well they were talking instead of wrestling.

Finally, Tony sat down on a nearby outcropping and motioned for the other man to do likewise. He'd been puzzling for the last few days over how to start this conversation, and had finally decided to try the simple-and-direct approach. He flipped up the visor of his helmet and extended his gauntleted hand. "Tony Stark. And you are?"

There were a couple of tense seconds before the man in the Haz-Tech suit lifted up his visor as well. The face behind it was of a Caucasian in his fifties, with thick gray eyebrows and wisps of gray hair sweat-glued around the sides of his face. "Dr. Christopher Walling," he replied in a crisp, Australian-sounding accent as he shook Tony's hand. "Great admirer of yours, Mr. Stark."

Well, _that_ sounded promising. "Pleased to meet you. You've, uh, been pretty busy."

"One tries." Pause. "I gather you've been keeping up with my … activities?"

"As best I can."

"And are you here on your own behalf, or your government's?"

Tony had a feeling that he should be the one asking the questions, but things seemed to be going well as it was … "Bit of both, actually. You realize that when you started your … crusade a couple of months ago, they thought you were me?"

Dr. Walling smiled. "High praise. I hope it didn't cause you any trouble."

Tony smiled back. "Nothing I couldn't handle. But there are a lot of people not exactly thrilled with your work …"

"To be expected, I suppose."

"… including my government. There was an incident in Afghanistan where the U.S. Army was trying to rescue some aid workers …" He let the sentence hang.

"Oh dear. I hope they weren't too put out to find the job already done." He seemed concerned, if not all that apologetic.

"Mmmm, they were. Are. Including some very powerful people. So I volunteered to come out here and find out what's what – one, uh, independent operator to another."

The words "independent operator" appeared to please Dr. Walling. "Well … having already given you my 'secret identity,' I'm rather at your mercy ..."

"Eh. Secret identities are overrated." They both chuckled, and Tony continued. "Tell you what – you tell me the story behind all the prison breaks and the Bible verses, and we'll go from there. That work for you?"

"The Scripture references, you saw those?"

"Hard to miss."

"Well. It is something of a long, complicated story …"

Tony shrugged. "I've got time."

"All right." Dr. Walling's posture relaxed. "Let's see. I'm from New Zealand originally. Always loved science, loved talking about it. Went to university, got my doctorate in nuclear physics, landed my dream post teaching at the University of Auckland. Almost got married a couple of times, but was more wedded to my work. Faithful member of my church – Anglican. All in all, an exceedingly normal life." Deep breath. "Until 13 December 2002."

"You remember the date and everything."

"I think you would too, Mr. Stark. See, the great goal in my career, like that of many other physicists, has been trying to find a workable method of producing nuclear fusion – low-energy nuclear reaction, to be precise. Doing so could end the worldwide energy crisis – not to mention undermine a lot of totalitarian governments, a particular interest of mine in case you haven't guessed. Needless to say, I'd had no more luck than anyone else has had. And it was starting to bother me more than usual. Well, the twelfth of December was a Sunday, and over tea and biscuits in the guild hall after service that morning I offhandedly mentioned my frustrations to a fellow parishioner – no specifics, just the sense that I was getting nowhere in my work. And he – just as offhandedly, I believe – said, well, have you asked God about this?"

"Had you?"

"Not really, no. I'm not the least allergic to prayer, but for some reason I hadn't 'brought this before the throne,' as it were. So I resolved to do so, and did just that when I got back to my flat. Don't remember exactly what I said – 'dear Lord, help me to reach this goal, and may You use it for Your glory,' something like that. But it was in my mind, all that day, and all the next."

"Now, university had just let out for the summer, and the summer session hadn't started – I had the physics lab to myself, and I thought, why not give it a go? We had a setup to try and produce fusion, and I started it running … and Geronimo! It worked that day on the first try!"

Tony's eyebrows went up. "Good for you! But I gather there was a catch, or I would've heard about it in the scientific journals ..."

"There was, as you say, a catch." Now the professor's voice held some sadness. "You see, I could produce the effect whenever I wanted. But none of my colleagues could reproduce the results. Not even with the exact same equipment."

"Oh, hell," Tony muttered sympathetically, then caught himself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I …"

"Ah, I've heard worse. Needless to say, this did little to relieve my frustrations, and much to increase that of my fellow professors. If results can't be reproduced independently …"

"… you can't publish," Tony finished for him.

"Precisely. I remembered what happened to Fleischmann and Pons when they went public with 'cold fusion.' A fate devoutly to be avoided. And I didn't entirely avoid it, alas. While by refraining from releasing my rather dubious findings I at least escaped being pilloried in the public press, I had nonetheless acquired a reputation among my university colleagues as … well, something of a crank."

Dr. Walling sighed, then continued. "I dropped those researches and went on to others, but I noticed two disturbing trends. One was that I was becoming 'the forgotten man' in my department, at least when grants or honors came around. It became more difficult to get peer-reviewed, and thus published. I had, somewhere along the line, become my fellow professors' equivalent of an inside joke, if not a warning whispered – 'don't be too sure of your success; don't want to go round the bend like Walling did that once'."

"At least they didn't try to force you out," Tony said in an attempt at sympathy.

"Thank God for tenure. But they definitely made it an uncomfortable place. The other trend … was that I was finding it easier and easier to … shall we say, reproduce my own results?"

"To create fusion?" Tony's eyebrows would have gone higher if they could've.

"First without the chemicals. Then, without the lab. Eventually, at the drop of a hat. Always in private, you understand – I'd had enough of the whispers. But still, with greater ease each time I tried. It took a few years before I realized that – as best as I could surmise – my prayer had been answered, simply not in the manner I had hoped."

"Wait, let me see if I got this straight. You're saying you think _God_ gave you the power to initiate low-energy nuclear fusion at will?" Tony made no effort to keep the skepticism out of his voice.

And Dr. Walling made none to keep the sadness out of his. "It's the best hypothesis I have, Mr. Stark. Believe me when I say I'm quite open to others – I am a scientist, after all. I'd love nothing more than empirical proof and reproducible results. But I don't have that, and I can think of nothing else that fits the evidence I do have." He paused before adding, "If it could be otherwise explained, I would gladly do so …"

"He is reported to have a sense of humor."

Dr. Walling looked at Tony sharply, then softened when he saw the other man wasn't making fun of him. "Mm, quite. This led me, however, back to my prayer. When I'd said something to the effect of 'use this for Your glory,' I'd assumed it would be along the lines of winning a Nobel and showing the world not all Christians are like those yahoos you have in America who insist the universe is only six thousand years old."

"You don't have them in New Zealand, I gather?"

"Not quite so thick on the ground. Anyway, clearly He had something else in mind – but I knew not what. So back to praying about it. I asked Him to show me what He wanted me to do with this … gift … power … skill, whatever you want to call it, that apparently I could manage and nobody else could. And this Scripture address popped into my head – Isaiah 61:1 …"

"… he sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of prisons …," Tony replied.

Now it was Walling's turn to be surprised. "Mr. Stark, I never took you for a Biblical scholar!"

"I'm, I'm not – we looked it up after you burned it into that wall in Pakistan."

"Ah. Well, it seemed to be saying to me that I could use this … ability, let's call it that … to in some way bring freedom to my Christian brothers and sisters under oppression. I don't know if you realize how hostile some regimes are to the preaching of the Gospel …"

Tony nodded. "It came up in my research."

"But I still had no idea how to go about that. And then the next day, I'm watching the news on telly, and there's this story about some industrialist in California, of all places, who'd started breaking up terrorist cells in the Middle East as a hobby …" He grinned.

Tony grinned back. "The press conference?"

"Actually, it was a few days later – one of those weekend news summaries. Nonetheless, I realized – here was a bloke who wasn't from planet Krypton, who had a skill and was using it to help people in trouble. And I thought, I could do that! I just needed a suit of armor, like you had, and a way to get to where the trouble was. The armor was the easy part – when you announced your company was making these –" He tapped the breastplate of his Haz-Tech suit. "— I contacted a friend of mine in the government's employ, and he managed to get hold of one in my size. The transportation was a bit trickier … but as you see, I was able to knock up something to, well, channel this ability appropriately …"

Tony had been wanting to ask him about the sled-like contraption. "Do you mind if I …?" He pointed at it, and Dr. Walling waved his arm as if to say, _be my guest_. The two men walked over to it together, and Tony began to give it an in-depth examination. "What's the body made out of? Not plastic … is it ceramic?"

"Ceramic lattice over an aluminium framework. With a palladium liner, to better conduct the power flow."

"Ah, palladium – wonderful stuff." _As long as it stays out of your bloodstream._ "So how do you launch it? And steer it?"

"I just … do." There was honest bewilderment in the older man's voice.

"Just goes where you think it? That must be nice." Tony couldn't help but smirk at that.

"I suppose," Dr. Walling replied, sounding less than totally convinced.

"And then you moved to Mumbai, to be closer to where the persecution was?"

"I'd heard the Institute of Chemical Technology was looking to bring in foreign professors from all scientific disciplines, to boost their international standing. I was looking to get away from Auckland and the whispers of my peers. ICT wasn't going to be as picky, and the location was perfect for me. And there you have it." He sighed, then added. "Pity it has to end …"

Tony broke off from his inspection of the vehicle. "It has to end? How come?"

"Mr. Stark, I am not so naïve to think that your government will allow me to continue mucking about in what they consider their bailiwick, unless they think I serve their ends. And there are going to be times when my views and theirs will not coincide. When I realized whom was chasing me this evening, I knew the jig was up; that's why I told you everything – that, and out of gratitude for your … inspiration, shall we say. Now you'll give that information to your superiors, no doubt, and that'll be …"

Tony interrupted, making a T-shape with his gauntlets. "Whoa, whoa, twenty-second time-out here!" The thought was still constructing in his head even as he spoke. "Just because you've told _me_ everything doesn't mean I need to tell _them_ everything."

Dr. Walling blinked a few times before saying, "Don't follow …"

"Remember when I said we were both independent operators? Well, that's just it – I'm here on my own dime. I'm only a consultant for the feds; they won't even authorize me to do a mission for them."

The doctor was taken aback. "Really? After all you've done, they don't trust you?"

"Well, I haven't always been very trustworthy. And … there are times when my views and theirs don't coincide." He added a Stark smirk for emphasis.

Dr. Walling smiled back, tentatively. "So … what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that, any religious differences between us aside, I think you're doing a good thing, and I think it should continue. And, I think it's worth a try convincing the people I work with that it's the case – provided we can keep you and the U.S. armed forces from tripping over each other. How about …" Tony could feel the wheels generating high torque in his brain. "How about this? I give Nick – he's my direct report – I give him the bare bones of your situation, leave your name out of it, and tell him you're willing to … well, not 'work with us' necessarily, but at least 'avoid working against us.' And I'll act as a go-between for you – you can contact me before you go into a war zone or something, and I'll check with my sources to make sure there's no previously planned operation where you're headed. Think it'd work?"

"Well … em … yes. Yes, I think it might. Thank you very much, Mr. Stark!"

"Call me Tony. You didn't blast me out of the sky, I figure we should be on a first-name basis."

"Well then, I'm Chris. And I really appreciate your keeping my identity under wraps – I suspect that were certain people in power to know, there'd be no end to it. Not to mention …" Chris scratched at his hairline with an armored finger. "… there's a certain young lady …"

"Oh really?" Tony grinned evilly and crossed his arms over his chest.

Chris began to blush. "Er … younger than I, at any rate. A fellow professor at ICT. We've become rather good friends over the past few months. Could turn into something more … but I don't know how she'd react to how I spend my Friday nights …"

Tony nodded in understanding. "Well, if you're willing to take the advice of an out-and-out pagan, I say if she can keep a secret, you tell her ASAP. Nothing's worse than when someone you care about finds things out thirdhand." He thought about Pepper's discovery that he'd almost died of palladium poisoning, and suppressed a wince.

"That does make sense …," Chris replied cautiously.

"Eh, as a wise man I know told me, 'above all, tell the truth.' _Thank you, Ronny Blankenship!_ "When I've followed it, it's served me well."

Chris smiled and nodded. "Jesus once said that 'whatsoever ye have spoken in darkness shall be heard in the light; and that which ye have spoken in the ear in closets shall be proclaimed upon the housetops.' Better to just proclaim it oneself when possible, I suppose." He paused before continuing. "Well, I must say, it's been a pleasure to meet you, Mr. St … er, Tony. But if I want to make my rendezvous, I do need to make some haste."

"Oh yeah. Where you headed?"

"A prison outside of Kathmandu, Nepal. There are about a dozen church members being held without charge …"

"Got a Bible verse picked out?"

That made Chris laugh out loud. "As a matter of fact, yes – Psalm 107:14. 'He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and brake their bands asunder.'"

"That works. Um … let me give you an e-mail address to reach me directly. I have pretty good Internet security, and it's a personal account, so … crap. I don't suppose you have paper and a pencil?"

They both laughed this time; there was no room in Tony's suit for such things, and Chris couldn't possibly carry stuff that flammable. "A better idea, Tony – can you call ICT when you get back to the States, and ask for me? That way we'll both be in a position where we can write things down. And I doubt my phone will be bugged or suchlike."

Tony was honestly enjoying this conversation; instead of it becoming adversarial as he'd feared, it had been more like two colleagues talking shop and promising to follow up afterward. "Will do – I can hunt down the number once I'm back. And now I'll let _you_ get back to work."

"Tony, I look forward to our next conversation." They shook hands – well, gauntlets – and then Dr. Walling got back on his sled, powered it up, took off and headed for the Himalayas.

Tony watched him go, then fired up his repulsors and pointed himself toward Dubai. All the way back, he thought about Christopher Walling's journey, and found himself actually envious. Personally, he wasn't interested in adopting any pre-packaged belief system; he had always agreed with Robert Heinlein that "the great trouble with religion – any religion – is that a religionist, having accepted certain propositions by faith, cannot thereafter judge those propositions by evidence. One may bask at the warm fire of faith or choose to live in the bleak uncertainty of reason – but one cannot have both." Too much of entering into that realm seemed to him like checking his brain at the door – and he saw no profit in that.

But he had to admit that faith had certainly given his new colleague-in-justice a mission and focus that, at present, he lacked. As Iron Man, he did his best to right wrongs and help the innocent, but if he were honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he had no real system beyond "see a need and fill it." He wouldn't let his department heads at Stark Industries get away with such sloppy long-term planning ... but here he was, the head of the Iron Man "project," hopping along from one disaster to the next with his fingers crossed. Walling, at least, had a plan, and an underlying philosophy for that plan. He, on the other hand, was basically improvising.

Maybe that's what Nick Fury was hoping to do with his Avengers Initiative – not that it would help at the moment even if he was, since Tony was at present still only a consultant. But it might be worth bringing up when he reported to Nick what he'd found out about Prometheus. Or, rather, a heavily redacted version of what he'd found, since he'd promised Dr. Walling not to reveal his identity …

Thinking about it, he had a gut feeling that Nick wouldn't take that very well.

* * *

"You promised WHAT?"

Score one for the gut feeling. "He doesn't want to be harassed by the locals – or by well-meaning members of the CIA. Can't say I blame him." Tony was pacing the floor of his office in the Dubai villa, cell phone jammed between his shoulder and right ear, leftover lamb kebab in his left hand. There wasn't any further need for him to be in the Middle East after his talk with Dr. Walling, but he knew his flight crew would require a little rest before turning around and heading back to L.A. (Besides, Fatima would be disappointed if he left without giving her a chance to feed him again.) He could split after breakfast Saturday (late evening Friday by his body clock), sleep on the plane and still make it home by mid-afternoon Saturday California time. Rhodey would be pleased.

Which was more than he could say for Nick. "I don't care about what he does or doesn't want, Tony. I have people of very high rank who are demanding to know who this jerk is, and some of them are so far up my ass about it that they're blocking my sinuses. Meanwhile, the consultant I brought in to solve the mystery is DELIBERATELY WITHHOLDING INFORMATION FROM ME because he made a stupid promise to some international Bible-thumping Robin Hood wannabe! That! Is not! ACCEPTABLE!"

"C'mon, Nick, he's one of the good guys! He's willing to stay out of the Armed Forces' way – wasn't that the objective we were trying to achieve? – and I'm willing to be his go-between so he can make sure he does. So what's …"

"Leaving us all beholden to you. How convenient." The one-second satellite delay inherent in international calls always meant a lot of unintended interruptions, but Tony had a feeling Nick would've cut him off even if they were in the same room.

"This isn't about me, Nick. It's …"

"Damn right it's not. It's not about you, or your opinions, or whatever you promised him. I brought you in to do a job – and you've apparently decided to circumvent it. Now I'm gonna ask you once more – give me ALL the information on Prometheus you've discovered in your little junket, not just your edited version, and give it to me NOW."

Rock and a hard place. Break the explicit vow to Chris Walling, or the implicit one to Nick Fury ...

The silence stretched until Nick finally broke it. "Whose side are you on, Tony?" he asked with menacing softness.

"The side of justice, I hope. I thought we both were."

Another few seconds of background static.

"That's it. That is IT! I have been trying to work with you for two years now. I have put you back on your feet more than once, I have tried to get you to see sense, and I have received very little help and a whole lot of backtalk and stonewalling. I have Phil Coulson pounding the walls, he is so frustrated with how little you tell him. I have fucking CABINET MEMBERS yelling at me to pry information out of you, when they're not telling me to strangle you until you cough it up! Well, you know what? I have better ways to spend my time! Effective immediately, you're out!"

It took a few seconds for Nick's words to sink in. "Out. Of the Prometheus business?"

"Out of Prometheus. Out of the Avengers Initiative. Out of my life! I'm trying to build a _team_ here, and I don't need any more of your prima donna act! Good riddance, Tony Stark – and don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split you! Is _that_ clear enough?"

The hand that wasn't holding his cell phone would've curled into a fist if there hadn't been a wooden skewer of meat in it. "Sure. And for all the work I've done for you … you're welco—"

"Send me a fucking bill." Nick hung up without another word.

Tony stopped walking, shut his eyes for several seconds, and sighed. Then he closed his phone, took a deep breath …

… and hurled it against the wall full-force.

Thankfully, it just bounced off and landed on the floor, unharmed. But Tony didn't even take another look at it. Instead he sat down, pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, and wondered why doing the right thing seemed all too often to lead to disaster.

* * *

Tony hadn't come up with an answer to that imponderable by the time he boarded his jet and bedded down for the night. And when he woke up an un-Tony-like six hours later, he felt almost as tired as when he'd conked out. _Man, I'm picking a bad time to get old_, he thought as he started some calisthenics in lieu of his usual morning workout.

An hour of physical activity, a light breakfast and three cups of espresso did wonders, however, and soon he was sorting through Stark Industries minutiae and feeling like himself again. Who knows, he mused, maybe cutting ties with Nick Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't an altogether bad thing. Yeah, Nick might decide to make life difficult for him with other parts of the military-industrial complex to which Stark Industries was still beholden. But since SI was working to diversify, that would be less of a problem than it might've been, say, three years ago. And suddenly he had more operational freedom as to what he did with his suit, and maybe more time available to him, certainly less stress …

All true, but. Tony couldn't deny his disappointment – despite having once referred to it as Nick's "super-secret boy band," he wanted to see that Avengers thing work, and he wanted to be a part of it. Any chance of that had just gone right out the window …

… because he'd been a man of his word, instead of letting himself be bullied by the Man with the Bulletproof Eyepatch …

Tony began massaging his temples to ward off the approaching headache. Thinking about S.H.I.E.L.D., about that last conversation, was looking like an entrance ramp to a never-ending cycle of justification and despair. Better to take the exit and deal with the projects he still had on his table: the future prospects of his company, and Project Pegasus. Now _that_ was an unqualified success – and he was looking forward to getting back to it.

So it was that, despite his Fury-induced stress level (exacerbated by having spent 30 of the previous 48 hours on an airplane), when he hopped into his car at LAX, he didn't head north and west toward home and a much-needed time of relaxation. Instead, he went south and east to Los Angeles Air Force Base.

By the time he got there, it was almost 4 p.m., and there weren't too many people around at that time on a Saturday. In fact, two who were – Michael Lee Bragg and Dara Sanborn – were heading out of the Pegasus building just as Tony was heading in. "Welcome back," Dara chirped happily.

Tony noted to himself that she was holding the lieutenant's hand. _Hmmmmm …_ "Thank you. Anything of interest while I was away?"

Dara shook her head as Michael answered. "Nothing to report, sir. All departments seem to be pleased. Subject's recovery continues."

Tony couldn't suppress a smirk. He suspected Lieutenant Bragg was incapable of being totally informal. "And where would I find the 'subject' at the moment?"

"Out by the basketball hoops, I believe. Last check, she was practicing dunks." That sent one of Tony's eyebrows up. Adele Carey was about the same height as he was – a modest five-foot-eight – which should make it impossible to dunk on a ten-foot hoop …

Dara interrupted his musing. "Michael, we'd better hurry if we want to get to the movies on time …"

Michael looked at his watch. "Shoot, you're right. _The Social Network_," he said to Tony by way of explanation.

Tony nodded in understanding. "Heard it's good. You kids go have fun." They waved their goodbyes, and Tony headed for the parade ground. He didn't run into anyone on the way, and didn't hear anybody until he got to the doors that led back outside.

_KA-CHANNNG!_

The unmistakable sound of somebody throwing down on a metal hoop. He followed the sound, to find Adele Carey in sweat pants and her Wolverhampton jersey, launching off of her new left leg and executing a windmill dunk worthy of Julius Erving. "Watch out, Kobe – there's a new sheriff in town!" he called out after she landed.

Adele responded with a hearty laugh. "This is so _great_! You didn't tell me these new parts would work better than my old ones!" She went up again, this time for a two-hander. "I could do this all day!"

"Well, I didn't _know_ they would. But we don't want to wear them out too quickly. Or wear yourself out,"

"Oh, I suppose you're right." She didn't sound all that convinced. "I missed you while you were gone …" She strolled over, the basketball tucked under her left arm, her Wolves jersey dripping sweat and clinging to her like a second skin. "Trip go well?"

"Wonderfully." Tony suddenly began to feel nervous.

"I'm glad. You've given me back so much, Tony …" She stopped less than a foot away, a dreamy look in her eyes.

"Hey, my pleasure," Tony replied.

"Exactly what I had in mind …" And without further warning, Adele pulled him close for a deep kiss.

Between his surprise at Adele's aggressiveness and his needier-than-usual physical state, it took Tony a couple of seconds to gather his wits about him and gently push her away. "No …"

"What?"

Visions of a heartbroken Pepper danced in his head. "Adele, look, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but … no, I can't …"

Adele took a step back. "Oh. I think I understand."

"Good. Look, I'm …"

"I'm just work to you, aren't I?"

"… sorry if … what?"

"You don't even look at me that way. I'm not a woman to you – I'm just an experiment."

Tony felt the situation spiraling – even further – out of control. "Now, Adele, that's …"

But she wasn't listening. And her voice was rising in both pitch and volume. "Here I thought, now there's a bloke who doesn't look on me as damaged goods, who looks at me as a person! But I guess I was wrong, wasn't I? I'm just a cripple with a plastic leg, just another object of pity – that's how you see me, isn't it?"

"Hey, that's not fair!"

"Damn bloody right it's not! I'm a human being, dammit …" There were tears streaming down her face now, mixing with the sweat. "Oh, never mind. Just … just leave me alone …" She began to walk away.

Tony moved to follow. "Adele, no, wait, let me expl …"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!" She spun and hurled the basketball into Tony's gut, with her left – replacement – hand, almost knocking him down. Then she took off running.

"Adele!" Tony pled, breaking into a run but quickly realizing there was no way he could catch her – not with her bionic feet powering her along.

"SOD OFF!" she yelled as she rounded the corner of the building and disappeared from sight.

Tony came to a halt, staring after Adele and feeling as helpless as he ever had in his life. _What could possibly go wrong next?_, he thought.

"Tony, what the hell?"

_Oh, that's what. _ He turned to see Rhodey marching up, double-time. "You saw what happened?"

Rhodey didn't stop until his nose was clearly in Tony's personal space. "Yeah, I saw. I saw you kissing her. I saw her pull away and yell at you to leave her alone. I saw her take off to God knows where to get away from you! What the hell were you thinking, Tony? Or were you thinking at all?"

"Platypus, I …"

"Don't 'Platypus' me, man! You take off for two days, come back, and the first thing you do is to jeopardize the whole damn project because you –" Rhodey jabbed Tony in the chest with a finger. "– can't keep your libido in check!"

Now Tony began to get angry. "Excuse me?"

"At this point, I would if I could! Do you –" poke! "realize you may have just thrown this entire operation in the toilet – and all to try and get a little on the side?" Poke! "What if Pepper finds out about this?"

"All right, Rhodey, that's enough! I don't need to be slandered by you or anyone else!"

"It's only slander, Tony, if it's NOT the TRUTH!" Rhodey poked him again.

Tony restrained himself – barely – from grabbing his friend's finger and finding new and painful directions for it to bend. "You want truth? Here's the truth, _Colonel_! One, I didn't kiss her – _she_ kissed _me_. Two, she didn't pull away – I _pushed_ her away." Rhodey rolled his eyes and sighed. Tony pressed on regardless. "Three, I'm more than happy to tell Pepper myself what happened, because while it isn't convenient, it does have the advantage of being the _facts_, and I think she can deal with facts even if you can't. And four, if you poke me one more time, I'm going to have to fabricate a replacement finger for you, because I _will_ break that one off, you got that?"

Rhodey kept his digits to himself. But his reply was just as pointed. "She kissed you. You pusher her away." Pause. "Please."

Tony was stunned. Was this how his best friend thought of him? "Is that really so unbelievable?" he asked in a low voice.

Rhodey crossed his arms. "Tone, I've been your friend for how many years? I don't know you? I don't know how you act?"

Several seconds passed before Tony responded. He could almost feel icicles hanging off his words. "Well, 'friend' … maybe you don't know me _now_." And without another word, he walked away to try and track down Adele.

Which was easier said than done. Tony went from room to room through the entire section of the base that was devoted to Pegasus. With almost everyone out on the town on a Saturday, there was no one to enlist in the search. Except Rhodey, whom Tony would ask for help shortly after his ski trip to Hell. And Adele was nowhere to be found.

Finally, playing a hunch he hoped was wrong, he got into his car, drove to the base's main gate and asked the MP on duty, "has Lieutenant Carey been by here recently?"

The MP, an African-American corporal built along the lines of a very prosperous refrigerator, nodded and said, "she sure was, sir. Came running through with a full head of steam, too. I asked her where she was going and she just yelled 'out!' Then she went over the security bar like she was running the hurdles, and boom, off like a shot." He shook his head in admiration. "Man, she's quite a woman!"

"Yeah," Tony replied tiredly, excavating a scrap of paper from the clutter between the front seats. "Listen … when she comes back, can you or whoever's here give me a call immediately?" He scribbled his cell phone number down and handed it to the guard.

"Absolutely, sir. Is there some sort of an emergency?"

"Let's hope not. Thanks." He rolled up his window, the guard raised the bar, and off he drove. He realized that trying to figure out where Adele had gone was pointless, but that didn't stop him from spending the next couple of hours criss-crossing the streets of El Segundo, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Finally, as the sun was going down, he gave up the search and headed home.

Tony didn't go down to the lab once he got in his front door. He didn't even bother changing his clothes, or getting his luggage out of the passenger seat of the Audi. He just flopped onto the couch in his living room and watched the view out the west windows as the last rays of sunlight disappeared and the stars came out.

There was no point in asking how everything went wrong; it didn't seem to matter how it had, only that it had. He was frozen out of the Avengers Initiative. Project Pegasus had spread its wings and flown the coop. The woman he loved had decided, for the moment, that she wanted to be somewhere he wasn't. He wasn't even, technically, in control of his company. He'd done his best for the last several months to do the right thing in every possible circumstance, and in every case the sky had opened up and fallen on him.

And to top it all off, there wasn't even anyone he could talk to about it. Pepper? Incommunicado until further notice. Rhodey? Not likely to be sympathetic at present. Adele? Both of the above. Happy? Unfortunately, Saturday was Happy's night off – he was probably hanging around Westwood playing Bowling for Coeds, oblivious to what was going down at Chez Stark. Ronny Blankenship, just his luck, had flown back to Georgia for the weekend – and given the time difference, was almost certainly sleeping the sleep of the septuagenarian just. Nick Fury wouldn't have been an option even if he was willing to take Tony's call, which he doubted. And not only did Natalie work for Nick, but the last time he'd gone to her for personal advice – the night of his last birthday – also happened to be the last time he'd gotten drunk out of his mind …

It had been barely six months since Rhodey had told him, "this lone gunslinger act is unnecessary... you don't have to do this alone." And yet there he was, by himself, with no way of changing it that didn't cost far more than it was worth.

Tony sighed, walked over to his bar and began fixing himself a drink … then stopped. He didn't want a drink … not exactly. He wanted oblivion. He wanted to forget, just for a while, every aspect of his sorry life ...

"Screw it."

Tony Stark returned to his seat with only a tumbler, a fifth of Johnnie Walker Red, and a determination not to stop drinking until the bottle was empty …


	13. Chapter 13

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 13: Bringing It All Back Home

Aw heck, you know where the disclaimers are by now, right? Right. Moving on …

* * *

As author David Carr once said, every hangover begins with an inventory.

Tony Stark wasn't sure how it was for anyone else; he'd never bothered to compare notes. But after a bad bender, he always worked from the center out. Make sure you're alive – heart beating, lungs working. Then to the near-surface stuff: bladder full but manageable, taste in mouth not as bad as he'd expected. After that, skin level – no cuts or scrapes stinging, not lying on a hard or awkward surface. No hangover was enjoyable, but considering it had been months since he'd inflicted one on himself, all in all he wasn't in bad shape.

Then, and only then, check the surrounding area. With an effort of will, he slowly opened his right eye …

… Pepper was standing over him, looking disappointed ...

… _aw, crap._

It was so tempting to close that eye again, hope she didn't notice, and just pretend to be unconscious for the time being. Forestall the moment of reckoning. But … he loved her. It was bad enough when she'd been away; he didn't want to _push_ her away.

So he set his teeth, forced his other eye open – ouch, that hurt – swallowed (with difficulty) and prepared to confront reality. "Sorry," he rasped. That seemed like a good place to start …

"Oh, Tony …" Pepper sounded more sad than disappointed, actually. She sat down on the couch next to what was left of him. "What happened?"

Chivalry reared its ugly head. "Nuh … nuh, Pep … don't wanna burden you with my probl—"

Tony's spirited defense was interrupted by Pepper kissing him, and holding the kiss long enough to make sure he knew it. Then she backed off just enough to let his eyes focus and said, "Tony?"

"Mmp?"

A ghost of a smile on her face, a softness in her voice. "Why don't you just tell me the truth?"

Something about what she said, and how she said it, made Tony want to burst into tears. He hadn't felt like that since the Army found him in Afghanistan. Both had carried the promise of a safe harbor after weeks of suffering. It took him a few seconds, but he managed to avoid the water works and start talking. And talking. And talking. Everything – his worries over Pepper and their baby, the encounter with Prometheus, the blow-ups with Nick, and Adele, and Rhodey – came out in a disorganized gush over the next twenty minutes. It felt like throwing up, but without the clean-up or the acid taste in the mouth. Also like losing his lunch, he felt a lot better once he was done.

When he finally ran down, Pepper moved from sitting next to him to pulling him close. She just held him for a minute, saying nothing. Again, he found himself having to stem the tear-duct tide.

Finally, Pepper said in his ear, "for what it's worth, I think you did the right thing. In every case."

"So why do I feel like my reward was to get hit by a log truck?"

Pepper pulled away, and now she was wearing a full-on grin. "Welcome to my world."

It took a few seconds for her comment to reach Tony through the fog still hanging around his mind. But when he did, he couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Okay, I earned that, I earned that. Any more where that came from?"

"No, I think it's out of my system now." She began digging in her purse. "But seriously … you'll find that the benefits of doing the right thing tend to be more long-term. It pays off down the road."

"How so?"

"Well, let me give you an example. By being so nice to me over the last few months, by not pressuring me into anything, caring about me when I was sick, being understanding about certain aspects of my past, and letting me have my space even when it might have been in your best interests to argue …" Here her lighthearted tone downshifted, and she squeezed his hand. "And I am sorry I wasn't here for you …"

"Hey, you had your own stuff to deal with – I understand," he replied with a shrug.

"See what I mean? All of that, plus turning down the advances of another woman even though we were apart, means that you've banked a lot of goodwill with me. So much, in fact, that not only am I giving you Excedrin out of my personal stash for the headache you undoubtedly have – here, swallow these …"

Tony did as he was told.

"… but I am going to go whip you up a plate of eggs Benedict, make you a fresh pitcher of carrot juice and a pot of strong coffee, serve it up with several B-12 pills on the side, and then sit down with you and go over anything you want to talk about. How does that sound?" She didn't wait for an answer, but got up and left the room, headed for the kitchen.

Tony sat and watched her go, as a large, painful smile spread across his face. Hangover notwithstanding, it felt good to be the "new Tony" all of a sudden.

* * *

An hour later, after Tony had re-enacted Sherman's March to the Sea (with the eggs, juice and coffee standing in for Georgia) and the pills began taking effect, he felt almost human. "So this is the reward for righteousness?"

"It's a start." Pepper looked up from the remains of her breakfast – a bowl of oatmeal and a banana. "Despite what happened last night, I really am proud of how you've been handling things."

Tony managed to summon his first "Stark smirk" of the morning. "Aw, thanks, Ma ...," he drawled.

Pepper put her hand over his. "No. Thank _you_ … Dad."

The last word knocked the smirk off his face. "Y-you mean …"

She nodded. "If you're willing, I'm willing. I don't want to go through it alone …"

Tony took her hand in both of his. "You won't."

Now it was Pepper's turn to tear up. "That's what I was hoping you'd say. You're not worried about the possibility of …"

"Of birth defects? Hell, of course I'm worried! But I think together we can handle them if they happen. Besides … well, I'm 45 years old, and I want to be able to throw the football around with him – or her – before the arthritis sets in."

Pepper laughed. "And I'm 37, which means for me it's kind of now or never. So … you sure?"

"Absolutely. And you know, your old 'crash pad' …" Tony was referring to the guest room next to the master bedroom; Pepper had often slept in it in their pre-relationship days when she worked late at Tony's and was too tired to drive home. "… is probably the right size and location for a nursery."

Pepper stifled another chuckle; once Tony was decided on something, he headed there at top speed. "And how should we decorate it? Want to go pastels, or yellow with fuzzy bunnies, or …"

"Pastels?" Tony pretended to sound scandalized.

"Fine, give me a better idea," she riposted, crossing her arms and smiling.

"Okay. Four walls, four themes. Sports on one, space adventure on the second …"

"You sure it's gonna be a boy?"

"Who said anything about a boy? Mia Hamm wasn't a boy. Sally Ride wasn't a boy. We can gender-balance these things. Third wall – a castle, princess, knight in shining armor … see, gender-balanced!"

"Warrior princess. Give her a sword."

"From my mind to yours. And wall number four … we can go Disney with that one. Actually, Pixar – nothing but the best for our kid. Deal?"

"Deal." Pepper stood up, shook Tony's hand … and they both burst into laughter, and found they couldn't stop. For two whole minutes they guffawed so hard that they could barely stay upright, until finally Pepper ran low on air, fell into Tony's lap and threw her arms around his neck. "I missed you."

"I … I missed you too." It seemed like the perfect time and opportunity for a kiss, so he gave her one. "But you got everything sorted out in your head?"

"Yeah. I just needed time …"

"Wait, I thought you needed space," Tony asked, mock-confused.

"Oh, stop. But it worked out fine – in fact, I was already thinking about coming back today, even before I got the … hold it, I haven't told you about the phone call, have I?"

_Phone call, phone call …_ "Nope."

"Rhodey called me this morning around six. Said he'd been trying to reach you, but your phone was off. I got the impression he wanted to apologize for something, but I didn't know what until you told me about yesterday afternoon …"

"Really? That's what he said?" Tony was all ears.

"Well, that's what he _hinted at_. But he was definitely worried about you, wondering if you'd gone and done something foolish, so I threw on my clothes and came straight over to check."

"And, sure enough, I had. He does know me well … though maybe not as well as he thought he did," Tony added archly.

"Well, he _did_ say he might stop by this morning to look in on you – and I got the impression 'look in on you' was a euphemism for 'patch things up'. So don't beat on him too hard, okay?"

"Why you gotta spoil my fun?" They both knew he was joking, and both laughed as prelude to another smooch. It might have become another long one, but just then Pepper's Blackberry went off.

"Hello? Oh, hi, Happy! … No, Tony's fine, his phone's just off … Where am I? Sitting on Tony's lap, why?"

Tony had to suppress a cackle.

Then Pepper's voice dropped an octave. "Oh, _is_ she? … Yeah, send her on up." Pepper cut the connection, then turned to Tony and gave him a quick peck. "Wait here. If I recall the expression correctly, I have to 'go slap a punk.' Oh, and turn your phone back on." With a sweet smile but a deadly look in her eye, she left the room, headed toward the front door.

Tony did, in fact, turn his phone back on – aggravated that he couldn't remember turning it _off_ – while he pondered Pepper's end of the conversation with Happy, plus her comment afterward. Who was being "sent up" that she would have a beef with? Why did she want him to stay out of the way? For that matter, since when did she talk like a character from _The Wire_?

After a few minutes, curiosity got the best of him. He got up from the kitchen stool and quietly snuck to the foyer …

… only to find a cross-armed (and just plain cross) Pepper glaring at an uneasy (and massively outgunned) Adele Carey. _Ah. The alpha female is protecting her territory from rivals_, Tony thought.

He must have thought it too loudly, though, because both women suddenly turned to look at him – Pepper in amused annoyance, Adele in embarrassment. He summoned up a bright smile for the occasion. "Well … I don't see any blood on the floor – that means things are going well?"

Adele covered her mouth and stifled a nervous laugh. Pepper face-palmed and looked askance at him as if to say, _and THAT is why I wanted you to stay put!_ But the tension seemed to diffuse, so, mission accomplished.

Tony pressed the advantage. "Tell you what – why don't we all come into the living room and discuss this? Much more comfortable. Adele, would you like some coffee?"

She seemed to brighten at that. "My kingdom for a cuppa!" Even Pepper had to swallow a chuckle at that one.

"No problem – I'll meet you two in there." He retreated to the kitchen, poured a mug for Adele, topped up his own, and put both of them and Pepper's cup of chamomile tea on the first tray he could find. (Probably the wrong one, he mused, but Miss Manners wasn't coming over, so who really cared?) Part of him wondered how he had ended up volunteering for serving duty; the rest decided to worry about it later.

Entering the sunken living room, he noticed that Pepper and Adele had seated themselves on opposite sides of a table – Pepper on the sectional, Adele on a high-backed chair. He was reminded of why the Chinese ideogram for trouble was two symbols for "woman" under the symbol for "roof." But nothing to do for it now except ride into the breach.

He needn't have worried. He'd barely set the tray down and taken a seat next to Pepper when Adele started talking. "I am … so sorry. I'm sorry for getting in the way of your relationship. I'm sorry for making an absolute arse out of myself yesterday. I'm sorry for running off like I did …"

"We …" Tony glanced at Pepper, who didn't seem to be buying in just yet. "… _I_ accept your apology. Where did you go last night?"

"To the beach. I ran along the beach, angry, frustrated, until my right leg, my … original leg wouldn't go anymore. By then it was night, and I just went and sat under a tree about a mile from here … and the next thing I knew the sun was up and there was a copper standing over me, wondering what I was doing there. I'm just thankful he decided that my British accent meant I wasn't a threat."

Tony smirked wryly. "Black woman on a beach near Malibu … knowing the cops around here, he probably saw you and assumed you were a homeless person."

Adele looked appropriately aghast. "What happened to all men being created equal in this country?"

"It's … still a work in progress."

"At any rate, I managed to talk my way out of a vagrancy charge, and started heading north again … and then I saw your house from the road and it looked vaguely familiar. I asked your man at the front gate whose it was, and when I found out, I thought it was Fate's way of saying 'time to face the music' …" She trailed off.

Pepper was still not totally mollified. "And you didn't know Tony was spoken for?" She took the sleeve of his shirt between two fingers, gently emphasizing the point.

"Well, I should've! In hindsight … I saw the two of you together, but I presumed it was simply a professional relationship. He didn't seem like he was 'looking,' but I figured it was just supreme self-confidence …" Pepper snorted in amusement; Adele paid it no mind. "He didn't respond when I tried to flirt with him …"

Pepper turned and looked at Tony. "You never mentioned she was flirting with you."

"I didn't know she was. You were?"

"Apparently I was too subtle. Just as well, I suppose."

Pepper seemed to be regaining her good humor. "A beautiful woman flirts with Tony Stark, and he doesn't even notice? Are you losing your touch?"

"Pep, really, this is not the venue …"

"And now you're blushing?" Pepper's grin was some combination of delight and pure evil. "Oh my …"

"So what was going on with you?" Tony said to Adele, trying desperately to salvage the conversation.

"I don't know, I really don't! The last couple of weeks, it's like I've reverted back to being a giggly schoolgirl – and I wasn't particularly giggly when I _was_ in school! I still can't believe I did that – and then ran away? 'Cor, if my drill sergeant from basic training saw me now, she'd chew me out until I lost my hearing." She shook her head. "I don't act like this normally, I swear …"

"Really …" Tony felt like he was getting The Look again. Where was a mirror when you needed one?

"Honestly!" Adele replied, misunderstanding Tony's musing. "I have never acted with a man like I did yesterday – never would've even consid—"

"No, I wasn't questioning that. When … when did you first notice a change in your emotions?"

"You mean, toward you? Or in general?"

"In general."

The expression on Adele's face was of someone taking a step back into themselves to do a quick inventory. "Well, it was about … it … right before the second implant …" She tapped her artificial fingers on her artificial leg. "… or maybe right after. No, before, but afterward it really ramped up … oh, no. You aren't thinking …?"

"He is," Pepper replied.

Adele's face fell. "Oh, no, NO!"

"Adele …" Tony made placating motions with his hands.

"No, please, no!" Adele held up her new left hand. "I lost so much before, I can't bear to lose it all again! No …" She moved to stand, and possibly flee.

Tony decided he'd better rein Adele in before things got out of hand – again. "Lieutenant! Sit down and shut up!" he barked.

Thankfully, Adele's army training kicked in, and she sat and shut up before she had a chance to think about it.

Tony looked at Pepper, noticed her shock and what he'd just done … and decided to let it pass for now. One crisis at a time … "Lieutenant, think about it. We've hooked three pretty major pieces of machinery directly to your nervous system in the last month. Do you really think that can happen without a few side effects?"

Adele, now forcibly calmed, replied, "I … don't suppose so …"

"Neither did I, but we hadn't had any show up yet. Or so we thought. You find yourself acting in a different manner than you ever did before – _that's_ a side effect. It doesn't mean you have to lose anything, it just means we have to cope with the problem."

"So I get to keep these?" Adele gasped in relief.

Tony heard Pepper about to chuckle, and patted her knee to distract her from it. "Yes, you get to keep them. But as soon as we get you back to base, we're going to have the docs run some tests. You probably just need to start taking a low dose of some sort of … not antidepressant, Pepper, what's the word I'm …"

"Mood stabilizer?"

"That. Probably it'll be temporary – after a few months your brain chemicals will adjust and you'll be good to go. But for now, no more flying off the handle, it doesn't suit you. Got it, soldier?"

"Yes, sir!" Adele said with a big smile. "And … um, Pepper …"

"Call me Virginia. And I forgive you." Pepper held out her hand and Adele took it – but Pepper didn't let go immediately. "Although if you do it again, I will have to kill you."

From the look on Adele's face, Tony knew she wasn't sure if Pepper was joking or serious. Come to think of it, _he_ wasn't sure, either.

He missed Adele's response, though, as his phone lit up. He looked at the display: Happy. Probably calling to check on things. "Hey, Hap – sorry about my cell being off earlier. Everything up here's okay."

"Good to know, sir. But … did you plan a big meeting for this morning and forget to tell me?"

"No … I always tell you, or Pepper or Natalie does. Why do you ask?"

"Well, that lady showed up earlier, and now Colonel Rhodes and Ms. Rushman are both here at the gate …"

Tony shrugged to himself. "No, nothing official I know of. But send 'em on up – we'll get it sorted out." He hung up and turned to Pepper. "Hail hail, the gang's all here."

"Sorry?"

"Rhodey's just shown up – with Natalie in tow. I'm guessing Nick sent her to work me over." He headed for the front door to welcome them, gambling that Pepper and Adele wouldn't draw blood while he was gone.

Tony got to the door just as Rhodey and Natalie reached it. Rhodey extended a hand. "I'm sorry, Tone – I shouldn't have done you like that."

Tony took it and shook it. "I understand your reaction, Platypus. Water under the bridge, okay?"

"Okay." Then Rhodey grabbed him in a bear hug.

"Hey, hey, Rhodey, you're embarrassing me in front of the girl," Tony joked.

Rhodey backed off, but with a smile. "And you didn't …?"

"Hey, you can ask her yourself if you don't believe me. She's in the living room."

Rhodey's eyebrows rose. "She is? When did you find her?"

"She found me, actually. Maybe twenty minutes ago." He didn't get a chance to say more, as Rhodey made a beeline for the living room.

Tony and Natalie followed. "So, did Nick send you over this morning?"

Natalie's smile was enigmatic. "Not … exactly, sir."

They heard Rhodey before they turned the corner into the room. "Where were you? We were worried sick about you! I had patrols going all over the area …" He was leaning over Adele, gripping her shoulders.

"I apologize, Colonel. Tony didn't do anything wrong, I just … well, we were discussing it before you came. We think that all these replacements hooked up to my nervous system sent me a bit off my nut. He's going to have the doctors run tests and see if medication will correct it."

"Well, that's good news. You had me scared, I'll tell you …"

Not the usual way a colonel talked to an AWOL lieutenant, Tony mused. _You don't suppose he reacted the way he did because …? Well, less likely things have happened._ "Have a seat, everyone. Anybody want coffee?"

Natalie waved it off and lit on the couch next to Pepper. "No thanks. Just had a big breakfast."

"Thanks, I'm good," Rhodey replied, pulling up a chair next to Adele. "And since I forgot to say it last night, Pepper, congratulations. Congratulations?" he added, looking at Tony.

It took Tony a few seconds to figure out what Rhodey was talking about. "Oh, yeah, congratulations. Thanks." He turned to Pepper. "You told him?"

Pepper shrugged. "It … kind of slipped out when he called last night."

"Congratulations for what?" Natalie asked, confused.

"We probably should start informing people now," Tony said to Pepper.

"Mm-hmm," she replied with a nod, then took his hand and turned back to Natalie. "We're … we're going to have a baby."

Natalie and Adele both started making the high-pitched shrieking noises that, in Tony's observation, women reserved exclusively for baby-related activities. He and Rhodey watched, bemused, as Pepper related the whole saga, complete with the Coumadin-related worries, and the three ladies discussed Lamaze classes, maternity clothes, diapering and other accoutrements associated with childbirth and its aftermath.

After a few minutes, Rhodey took advantage of the cover of conversation to move next to Tony and whisper in his ear. "So … you been taking a look at any bling for your baby mama?"

"First of all, do _not_ call her that. But yeah, I've made a couple of calls, working on a design. You'll see soon enough…"

Finally, there was a lull in the nursery conversation and Tony singled out Natalie. "Ms. Rushman, I didn't get the chance to ask you – what brings you by on a Sunday morning? Or were you just riding shotgun for Rhodey?"

"Actually, I drove myself. But no, I'm here on other business." She paused for a deep breath. "Nick Fury called me yesterday ..."

"Oh boy," Rhodey muttered as he re-took his seat.

"Yeah. I wanted to make sure I got what he said straight. Tony, he was angry with you for keeping Prometheus' identity confidential?"

"Along with Prometheus' nationality, profession, general bio … but yeah, pretty much."

"All right. That's what he said too …"

Tony decided to just get it over with. "Okay, let me have it. Though I warn you, it won't change my mind."

"Oh, it's not you I'm letting have it, sir. But … um …" Natalie looked over at Adele. "This is all classified information …"

Pepper stood. "Adele, why don't I show you around the place, and we'll let the government agents talk shop?"

"Thanks, Pep. I'll fill you in later," Tony promised.

Once Pepper and Adele were out of the room, Natalie continued. "Okay. Nick called yesterday to let me know you were off the island and to recall me immediately to D.C. I asked what had happened, he told me. And I told him I thought in this case you'd done the right thing."

Tony was honestly surprised. "You did? More to the point, you thought I did?"

"Yes. I understand not wanting people to know your identity – I've done some undercover work too, and I sure don't want my address and phone number connected with it. And it's not like this guy is an enemy of the United States; he's probably doing what our people would do if they could get away with it. And that's what I told Nick." She paused and smiled cynically. "Needless to say, he didn't see it that way."

"Needless to say," Tony agreed. "Granted, you and I don't have U.S. senators climbing all over us about it …"

"True, but that doesn't change the moral issues involved – human rights are human rights. Anyway, the discussion escalated from there, and finally Nick told me he wanted me in his office first thing Monday morning. Whereupon I told him I'd be there, letter of resignation in hand. And I hung up."

"Wha-a-at?" Rhodey yelped, his voice rising an octave on the vowel.

"You sure you want to try and bluff Nick Fury?" Tony asked, his brow furrowed.

Natalie's smile was sharp-edged. "I'm not bluffing. I'm blackmailing."

Tony looked at Rhodey, who didn't seem to understand it either. "Care to elaborate?"

"The key here is to remember that it's Washington we're dealing with. The Obama administration wants to cut the defense budget, and one of the programs that's threatened is the Avengers Initiative – because, well, it hasn't done much yet, it's still in the planning stages …"

"But all the funding that's gone into it so far – they'd just drop it after all that?" Rhodey inquired.

"Remember the Superconducting Supercollider they were building in Texas?" Tony answered. "80% finished, billions already invested, and Congress cut _that_ off …"

"Good point. Sorry, Natalie, go on."

"So Nick has to convince Congress all over again that this will pan out. And one of the key Democratic representatives, a swing vote on the committee that controls the purse-strings, is giving him a hard time over the lack of minorities involved."

"You're kidding," Tony said with an incredulous smile. "I mean, I know you're not, but …"

"You know the lineup S.H.I.E.L.D. has so far. Barton, while male. Banner, white male … most of the time. If they can ever find Steve Rogers, and if he's alive, white male. There's a lead on one more possible, but he's, you guessed it, a white male. Maria Hill, white female. Phil Coulson … say no more. Other than Nick, all the minority representation they had was a full-blooded Russian-American female – me – and a half-Hispanic consultant."

"Who's the half-Hispanic …," Rhodey began, then caught himself. "Oh, right. Sorry, Tony."

"Don't worry about it. I don't think of myself as being an ethnic anything. After all, Mom's first American ancestor came to California in the 18th century with Father Serra – they were here before the Starks were."

"Your mother's great-great-something was a priest?" Natalie asked.

"Conquistador. Military," Tony replied with a smirk.

"Ah. Anyway, one of those he just canned, and the other's threatening to quit," Natalie finished. "Frankly, I think he'll have a much easier time papering over the Prometheus mess, than trying to deal with Mr. Quota in the House without the two of us on board."

"Surprised Nick hasn't gone after you, Platypus," Tony remarked.

"He has," Rhodey grunted. "So far, I've told him no. The guy gets on my last nerve."

"After years of dealing with me, I'd think Nick would be easy."

"Tony, when you annoy people, it's usually because you're being a selfish jerk. When Nick annoys people, it's because he's _trying_ to. He's a manipulator. His saving grace is that he's good at it. But that doesn't mean I have to sign up for more of it."

Just then, Natalie's cell phone rang. She took it out, looked at the display, and put it back unopened. "That's Nick again. I'm letting it go to voice mail. He can twist in the wind until I arrive tomorrow morning."

"Now who's the manipulator?" Tony said with a grin.

"He taught me well. Too well, perhaps." Her smile was vicious.

"And you're actually gonna drop a resignation letter on him?" Rhodey was still clearly skeptical.

"Already typed and printed." Then the smile faded. "Although … well, will I still have a job at Stark Industries then?"

"Don't be silly, of course you will! You know how hard it is to find a good personal assistant? My last one's a VP now. But, ah, what about your boyfriend at Howard?"

Natalie grimaced. "There is that. Luther and I don't get to spend much time together lately – plus the school year's started for him, and I won't be able to justify flying to D.C. once a month on my own dime …"

"Okay, here's my offer. If Nick calls your bluff, we give it 'til the end of the year with you here in L.A. If after that you decide you'd rather be in Washington, I'll call Jim Pelekoudas – he's Stark Industries' chief lobbyist, been there since Carter was in the White House – and tell him he's got a new staff member. It'll mean a slight pay cut, but mostly due to cost-of-living differences between here and there. Deal?"

"Deal." Natallie stretched out her hand, which Tony shook. "Whew!"

"Safe to come in?" Pepper came around the corner, Adele right behind.

"Yeah, I think we're good." Tony stood up. "Tell you what – Rhodey and I have to get our AWOL officer back to base and arrange a few things. While we do that, Natalie, you can fill Pepper in on our convo. And Pepper, you can show Natalie where the nursery will be. I'll try to be back for lunch."

The suggestion was agreeable to all, so Tony, Rhodey and Adele headed for the front door while Pepper and Natalie made their way up the hallway. "I love it when a plan comes together," Rhodey said with a smile.

"Multiple plans," Tony corrected. Mostly, he felt relieved that things seemed to be on the upswing again. Now if only he could do something about that one loose end …

* * *

The loose end got tied up early Monday afternoon, when Tony's PDA rang.

The number on the display was Nick Fury's, as was the voice on the line. "If you're expecting me to say _maxima mea culpa_, Tony, just forget it," he began, in lieu of a hello.

"I wasn't expecting you to call at all," Tony drawled in response. He set down the right gauntlet of his suit, having once again been working on improving the reaction time in the fingers – without success.

"Nonetheless, I'd like to ask if you'd be interested in returning to the Avengers Initiative."

"Yeah, I would. So did our mutual friend help you with this decision?"

"You might say that. You might also say 'political extortion' had something to do with it. I don't much care about the semantics right now. I want to know if I can rely on you in the future."

"Can you rely on me to do the right thing? I like to think so. Can you rely on me to do exactly what you want? When I believe it's the right thing. Can you rely on me to be a quiet team player who just goes with the flow and never makes waves?"

"That one's rhetorical, right?"

"Yes, Nick, it is."

Nick let out a long, put-upon sigh. "Well, I don't know how you managed to change Miss Romanov's mind, but …"

"Actually, I didn't," Tony interrupted. It felt good to be interrupting Nick for once, rather than the other way around. "We came to the same conclusion separately."

That got several seconds of silence. "Tony, what am I gonna do with you?"

It was a good question. "Use me as you can, I suppose. And when you can't, grit your teeth and move to Plan B. Pretty much like you have to deal with everyone else involved in this business."

"Pardon?"

"Nick, I find it hard to believe you haven't noticed. The people you're recruiting – myself included – tend to be the kind that don't 'play well with others.' You want us to work together as a group, and we'll all try, I suspect – but it's not exactly our natural bent. I mean, me, Banner, Barton – I haven't met Barton, but I've heard stories – Natalie … we all rate pretty high on stubborn individualism, don'tcha think?"

"All true. I can only hope that if the cause is important enough, you rummies will come together …"

"If it is, we will," Tony said confidently.

"Okay, Tony, so what do you propose to do about the people calling for my head if I don't corral your new friend Prometheus?"

"Hmmm … well, first of all, put a bug in the ear of some of your Congressional friends about what he's actually doing. To the more conservative Republicans, tell them he's specifically freeing persecuted Christians. Same thing with the Democrats, only call them 'prisoners of conscience.' Frame it as a human rights issue and ask why we would be opposing the guy. For the generals … tell them you've got some leads you're pursuing, and keep telling them that. Hell, they've been trying to get bin Laden since, what, 1996?"

"1998," Nick corrected.

"It's now October 2010. He's still on the loose. Anyone lost funding over that? And he's a terrorist mastermind who attacked the U.S., not a Robin Hood wannabe who's doing his work elsewhere. Play it right, and you could even get the Tea Partiers on your side!"

"Well, with friends like that … but I see your point; I'll give that a try." He sounded almost mollified.

Tony decided to seal the deal. "And if it'll help, I'll happily call that Mr. Affirmative Action that you're having trouble with in the House and gab about my sorta-Mexican heritage."

"I might take you up on that – remind him that I'm black while you're at it." Nick paused, then added, "and Prometheus is gonna come to you before pissing off our allies unnecessarily?"

"That's the working plan – I e-mailed him this morning, so he has my address."

"I guess that'll have to do. Well, it's getting late out here, so I need to get back to herding the other cats. You need Miss Romanov back in a hurry?"

Tony was confused for a second before recalling that "Natalie Rushman" wasn't her birth name. "Uh, not urgently. Let her canoodle with Luther for a few days – she'll come back happier, and I'll make JARVIS do extra work until she does."

"Okay, I'll let her know. Well … I'd say it was a pleasure doing business with you, Tony, but …"

_Never gives an inch_, Tony thought. "… but yeah, we both know better. Suffice to say that business got done. Have a good evening, and call me when the next project comes up."

"I will. Now why don't _you_ go and make an honest woman out of Ms. Potts?" He hung up before Tony could reply.

Tony shook his head and holstered his Blackberry. 'Manipulator,' Rhodey had called Nick – and boy, was that accurate. But he had to admit that the conversation – and everything since Saturday night – had gone about as well as things could possibly go. Had to like that ...

He leaned back in his chair, momentarily pondering the ceiling. Well, that was that skein of crises out of the way. Now on to the next bunch: preparing to take control of Stark Industries again on November 8. Making sure Adele's brain chemistry got re-balanced. And while he was at it, making an honest woman out of Pepper.

Tony was looking forward to all of those. Especially the last one …


	14. Chapter 14

Hearts and Souls

Chapter 14: Missions Accomplished

Over in chapters 1 and 4 you'll find our lovely disclaimers, and coming up here we begin to wrap up our story … and we're walking, and we're walking …

* * *

The rest of October and the first few days of November passed without unusual incident, which was a blessing as far as Tony was concerned. After the last few months' crises – and with November 8 drawing close – he kind of needed the rest.

He sent S.H.I.E.L.D. his final report (complete with its unsatisfying – to Nick – conclusion) on the Prometheus case, and made his promised phone call to a certain overly race-aware congressman. (One of the underrated advantages of being him, he mused: public officials will stop what they're doing to take your call.) The Pegasus Project was in maintenance mode, focused mostly on find just the right dosage of lamotrigine for Adele, and had already started planning a "big announcement" press conference for sometime in late December. And except for a Halloween appearance at a Boy Scouts of America event in Orange County, he hadn't been in the suit in weeks.

The afternoon of Friday, November 5 found him kicking back in his living room with a glass of chlorophyll, tapping out ideas for his own Monday afternoon welcome-back press conference on his tablet computer. He figured on putting an outline together over the weekend, then sitting down with Ronny, Pepper and Natalie Monday morning to flesh out a more-or-less-final version. And, come Monday at 2 p.m. – carefully chosen by the board for after the New York Stock Exchange closed, to minimize the damage should he go off the ranch like he did back in '08 – it was time to face his public and begin Stark Industries' next era. No pressure.

He was just about done tapping when he heard the front door open, followed by the sound of two-inch heels heading across the marble floor of the foyer. Quickly he saved his data and set the tablet aside, standing up just as Pepper entered the room. "So, how'd it go?" he asked, walking toward her.

He almost didn't need to ask – Pepper was beaming. "Best case scenario! Dr. Faisal said my heart is just fine, there shouldn't be any further complications, and I am free to resume all normal activities!"

"Hey, that's great!" Tony came over and gave her a quick hug and kiss. "Guess on Monday, we'll be heading back to work together."

Pepper gave him a bemused look. "Tony … I don't think you're following me."

Tony was confused. "I'm not? Wait, what did I not follow?"

"I said …" She reached out a finger and began to run it gently down Tony's arm. "… that my heart is just fine, and I am free to resume _all … normal … activities_ …" For extra emphasis, she wiggled her eyebrows.

The light dawned, and a wide, almost predatory smile spread across Tony's face. "Ahhhhh …"

"Uh-huh. So, if you don't have more pressing matters at the moment …"

"There's no such thing as a more pressing matter at the moment. JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hold all my calls – ALL my calls - until further notice." Without another word, he took Pepper's hand and led her toward the bedroom.

"Further notice" turned out to be early Sunday evening.

* * *

Sometime between Friday afternoon and Sunday night, Pepper leaned up on one elbow and asked, "this isn't a problem for you?"

Tony, not fully awake, responded, "Pep, trust me, none of this has been a problem for _me_ …"

"Tony … I meant _this_." She took his hand and put his fingers against the scar running down the center of her chest.

Tony looked at her as if she'd suddenly started speaking Estonian. "What? No. Why would that be … that doesn't make any sense."

"C'mon, it looks pretty bad …"

"Hey, you don't have a problem with _this_." He took her hand and pressed it to his arc reactor. "I mean, except for the time I had you help me swap it out. But not recently. So no, it's not a big deal. You've got a battle scar, that just means you won the battle, right?"

Pepper smiled. "You sure? I'm not … damaged goods?"

"Pep, we're all damaged goods – you, me, everybody. But I waited for you for over a decade; I'm not gonna run away because of a nick on your skin. Besides …" Tony brought his other hand into play. "… if you look to either side of that scar …"

Pepper gasped.

"… or here … or down here …"

"Oh, Tony, don't stop!"

And so he didn't.

* * *

The only downside was that Tony was hurting a little when Monday afternoon came around. Oh, well.

He stood in the alcove offstage from the Stark Industries "media room," where all of their big press conferences were held, along with Pepper, Rhodey, Bill Riva and a couple of others. Ronny Blankenship was up at the podium, making some introductory statements before Tony came on. Behind Ronny, at the back of the stage, was a banner with the new SI logo – a black cartouche with the words "STARK INDUSTRIES" in white, the S of "STARK" backed with the blue octagonal design of an arc reactor. Below that was their new slogan, "Welcome to the Future," reflecting the company's continuing transition from weapons-making to a more diversified spread of products.

Ronny began to wrap up. "Well, I've got some quality retirement to catch up on …" Laughter from the hundred or so reporters and whatnot. "… so I'm gonna leave it at that, and turn things over to the fella you're really here to see. Ladies, gentlemen … and members of the press (wink) … welcome back the former, current and _future_ CEO of Stark Industries, Mr. Tony Stark!"

Tony walked out to a smattering of applause from the press, shook Ronny's hand and came to the podium. The clapping tickled his funny bone. "A little slip in journalistic objectivity there, I see," he quipped, and received polite laughter for it.

"Before I begin … you all look so comfortable sitting down; does anyone mind if I do?" Hearing no objections, he grabbed a chair from the back of the stage, dragged it over to the front and planted himself in it, pulling the cordless microphone loose from the podium's stand as he did. "I pulled a leg muscle over the weekend, and I really ought to rest it when I can. Yeah, getting old ain't for sissies," he added in response to some sympathetic noises from the audience. He pulled out his tablet, with the outline of his starting statement. "I do have some things I'd like to say first, and then I'll be willing to take questions until … until you get tired of asking them or your deadlines hit or I have to go to the john, whichever one comes first. Okay?"

Tony did a quick survey of the crowd. Most of the major business publications and broadcast programs were represented, as well as a number of the bigger general news media. He saw cameras from all of the L.A. television stations, plus reporters from the _Los Angeles Times_ and the _Orange County Register_. And in her usual spot (fourth row, middle aisle) was Christine Everhart of _Vanity Fair_, looking like the cat that caught the canary. But then, she usually looked like that.

"I have to start off by saying that it's great to be back full-time. I've been involved in what's going on here at Stark Industries over the last six months, just not as much as I will be now. It's been a good time off … well, semi-off. And I've learned a lot. The most important thing I've learned is that just because my name is on the company doesn't mean that I _am_ the company.

"That has been the toughest adjustment for me … to, to recognize that Stark Industries is no longer the company that my dad ran from his basement workshop back in the 1940s. We can't run that way now – we have operations on six continents, we have thousands upon thousands of employees. There are entire industries, entire governments that rely on us. I can't afford, for our customers' sake, for our employees' sake, and for my own sake, to treat Stark Industries as an 'I'. It's not an 'I,' it's a 'we.' There are things I will have to take care of myself – I'm the guy at the top, I'm where the buck will stop – but that's not everything."

Tony gestured to the banner behind him. "Forgive the obvious wordplay, but there's no 'I' in 'Welcome to the Future.' However, it starts with 'we.' And I'd be a fool to forget that.

"_We_ are going to have a lot of exciting news for you over the next several months. We have a number of new products in development, in many different fields. We've got Bill Riva and our R&D department coming up with all kinds of stuff … plus me tinkering in my basement workshop, of course." That got a few laughs.

"Over the last six months, I and the Stark board have been asking one question above all else – if we're no longer to be a weapons manufacturer, what will we be? Rest assured, we will be honoring all our contracts with the Department of Defense, and we will be bidding on future contracts when they involve defensive hardware and other supplies. We're just transitioning out of the 'splosions business. Our focus has been, though, on what we're transitioning _to_. And what it looks to be, what we think we can do better than anyone else in the world, is what we already know how to do – namely, electronic hardware, primarily in the area of transportation but in other areas as well. In short, we'll still be in the payload delivery business – only the kinds of payloads will be a lot safer to handle."

More laughs. Tony was enjoying this – now for the big surprise. "In fact, this morning we signed a deal with Lockheed Martin for a joint venture, to produce the world's first arc-reactor-powered jet aircraft. We estimate that together, we can make a vehicle that is faster than any commercial airliner available today, as comfortable as any currently available, and thanks to 'green' arc-reactor technology, will produce less than 4% of the emissions of a modern state-of-the-art jumbo jet and cost one-third less to operate. We've already started working on possible designs, and hope to have a prototype ready by the end of 2013."

He watched as the business press quietly, genteelly freaked out. A functional and efficient ARP jumbo jet could break the current duopoly of Boeing and Airbus among commercial airlines. And if it was cheaper to keep in the air AND produced 1/25 of the pollution, both the carriers and the environmental lobby would rise up and call them blessed. This was news!

"That is just a sample of what we've been exploring – we have literally hundreds of potential fields where we can apply what we know about electronics and engineering. It's just a matter of choosing which ones to pursue and how to best go about it. Others will be announced as they come together – in fact, we should have a few more to tell you about before Christmas comes." Pause for effect. "Because, when Stark Industries says 'welcome to the future,' _we_ mean just that."

Tony almost expected the journalists to erupt into a standing ovation – and for a split second, they almost did, before remembering their claims to objectivity. He glanced over at the crowd in the alcove. Ronny was giving him two thumbs up. Bill Riva was holding up a piece of paper with "10" written on it. And Pepper … was motioning for him to get on with it. He suppressed a chuckle.

"Now, one more thing before I take your questions. For the first fifteen minutes, I will only be answering questions related to Stark Industries and its business interests. After that, anything you want to ask – personal stuff, Iron Man stuff, whatever – is fair game. All right?" No objections. "Okay, first question … give your name and corporate master, please." He pointed to a reporter who had his hand up.

"Walter Cranick, _Wall Street Journal_. Are there any plans for an arc-reactor-powered automobile?"

And so it began. Yes, an ARP car was high on their priority list, though whether they'd build it themselves or in conjunction with an established auto maker was still to be decided. Yes, they thought arc-reactor technology could be adapted for almost any large machine. No, there would not be a Jericho II missile system, though again, they would fulfill DoD's orders for the current Jericho. No, he didn't think the eventual shuttering of weapons production would lead to massive layoffs, as most of the people involved would be transferred to other divisions; in fact, that process had already started. Yes, there would be a medical division within Stark Industries, but what form it would take and what products it would supply were up in the air. (He didn't say that he knew what the first ones might be … that would have to wait for the Pegasus "big reveal" next month.) Yes, they were looking into the possibility of purchasing some of Hammer Industries' assets, now that SI's rival had filed for bankruptcy after Justin Hammer's conviction and sentencing (to 22 years' imprisonment) in the Vanko affair. Et cetera.

Fifteen minutes and one second in, he saw Christine Everhart's hand go up. He took a couple more business questions, just to torture her, before pointing her way.

"Christine Everhart, _Vanity Fair_. Care to confirm the rumor about the relationship between you and a certain new Stark Industries vice-president?"

_Should've known._ The reporters now laughing, he turned to look at Pepper, who was staring at him with only one eye, the other being covered in embarrassment by her hand. He gave a theatrical shrug, hands spread as if to say, _hey,_ I _didn't tell her!_ – and the guffaws doubled.

Finally, he smirked and replied, "yes, I do care. To confirm. Pepper, do you care to confirm?"

The reporters couldn't see Pepper where she was standing, so all they got was a disembodied voice wearily saying, "yeah, yeah …". Which, of course, sent the press into fresh paroxysms of laughter.

"She's crazy about me, you can tell," Tony quipped as the noise died down.

"Would it be right to say that this relationship is serious?" Christine followed up, with a smirk of her own.

"Oh, I'm dead serious about it."

"Any wedding bells in the offing?"

"None of your business. Next!" he replied rapidly, and pointed to a reporter from _Newsweek._ Most of the journos chuckled again, and while Christine made a pouting face at him, he could tell she didn't really mean it. Why should she – she got her story. (Besides, he recalled, she was already scheduled to get a full interview with him next week.)

As he was answering the _Newsweek_ reporter's question about the recent mid-term elections (he stated his hope that the Republican wins would lead to more bipartisanship in Washington, and expressed no displeasure about Senator Stern getting tumbled from office in Pennsylvania), he felt his Blackberry buzz in his jacket pocket. He ignored it; unless it was Happy calling to tell him the house was on fire, it could wait. (And if it _was_ Happy, he'd just turn around and call Pepper next, so it was covered.)

By almost four o'clock the questions began to get repetitive or silly, so Tony said, "one last question" and pointed to a reporter he didn't know.

"Selina Ramirez, _E! Entertainment Television_. Have you been following the late night TV wars between Jay Leno and Conan O'Brien, and have you taken sides?"

"Absolutely I have – I'm with Coco, and I wish him well on the debut of his new show tonight. Okay, I think that literally covers everything. Thank you, and again … welcome to the future, folks!" With that, there actually was an ovation as he stood up and left the stage.

The group in the alcove had grown, and there was a veritable scrum to pat him on the back. "Well done, cowboy," Ronny Blankenship said. "Nailed it, sir," added Bill Riva. And Pepper gave him a quick hug and whispered "couldn't have gone better" into his ear.

"So … what's the betting line on tomorrow's jump for our stock?" Tony asked jokingly. He ended up with serious answers, ranging from three to twelve dollars, and the CFO suggested starting a pool, which Tony immediately approved (winner getting an extra day of paid vacation).

Only one person there didn't have a grin on their face: Natalie Rushman. She was at the back of the crowd, holding up her PDA and pointing at it – clearly signaling that he needed to check his own. And if it was Natalie telling him to do so, that meant the call was likely from …

… yep. "Tony, this is Nick Fury. Call me after you're finished playing 'Meet the Press' – I've got a job for you. And your super-suit."

* * *

"Okay, hit me."

"If I were there, Tony, I might be tempted. What took you so long? Your presser was supposed to start at 2 p.m. your time."

"It did. It just ended. Watch the 10 o'clock news, you'll probably see a clip."

"A two-hour press conference. You do like to hear yourself talk, don't you?"

"You didn't know that, Nick? It's in my file – right below the 'classic narcissism.' Now, why'd you call? Besides to hear me talk."

(Sigh.) "Put simply, S.H.I.E.L.D. finds itself a little short-handed at the moment."

"Banner flew the coop again."

"More like 'still' than 'again' – we know where he is, but it's probably better to leave him be for the moment. The search for Rogers continues. And Barton managed to break the orbital bone in his eye – tripped and fell against the fist of someone's jealous ex-boyfriend. He's on the 30-day DL."

"Barton does have style. So it's down to your third-stringer, huh?"

"My two third-stringers – you and Miss Romanov. Some Waziri rebels on the Afghanistan-Pakistan border have the teenage son of the U.S. consul to Pakistan and a couple of his buddies – nabbed them while they were hiking in the hills. The folks holding him hostage have already said that if they're approached by any uniformed personnel – ours or the locals – they'll kill the kids. I need someone who can do an extraction with a minimum of fanfare. Think you, Miss Romanov and your suit can handle it?"

"Yeah, I think we c … wait, hold on just a second." *BEEP* "Pepper, I've got Nick on the line. What's so urgent?"

"Check out this e-mail – it just came in for you. Isn't that the person we were investigating?"

"Yeah … yeah, it was … what is he …? Oh, that is _very_ interesting … thanks, Pep." *BEEP* "Nick – kismet!"

"Excuse me?"

(Smirk.) "What if Natalie and I were able to put together a _team_ for this operation?"

* * *

Putting together the team turned out to be surprisingly easy. A few phone calls, a package shipped overnight halfway around the world, and overriding the objections of some very concerned doctors was all that was needed.

The doctors were concerned because one of the people Tony wanted on the team was Adele Carey. "She's only several weeks removed from some major experimental surgeries," Dr. Kaur told him, in a voice that might have sounded pedantic if she hadn't been so worried. "She's on mood stabilization medicine. Not to mention the trauma that preceded all that. And you want to take her on a jaunt into a _combat zone_?"

Put that way, it did sound rather ludicrous. "That's … about the size of it."

"Ridiculous. Absolutely out of the question."

"What's out of the question?" Adele said as she walked into Dr. Kaur's office. "Sorry to interrupt, but my ears were burning …"

"Sending you off to be shot at," Dr. Goldman replied dryly, "is out of the question."

"Oh. What did I do this time?" she asked with a smile.

"Nothing yet. Have a seat." Tony motioned to an empty chair.

"Don't sit down, Adele," Dr. Kaur interjected. "This is not going to happen."

Rhodey held up a hand. "Not to minimize your objections, doctors, but maybe we should let the director of this project decide what's going to happen?" Tony made a mental note to thank Rhodey – who wasn't at all sure about having Adele involved either – for backing him.

Adele took matters into her own hands, and sat. "So, mind telling me what it is I won't be doing?"

Tony smiled. "I've been asked by my own minders in the U.S. government to pull off a rescue mission, one that because of the circumstances regular forces can't do. Four kidnappees are being held by a group of Waziri outlaws on the Pakistan/Afghanistan border. We've specifically been asked to extract three of them, teenagers, one the son of the U.S. consul to Pakistan. They're also holding a British missionary who was working among the Waziris, by the name of Graham Niall."

The last part caused both Adele and Dr. Kaur to come to attention. "Graham Niall?" they cried.

"A … familiar name?"

"Graham Niall was a medical missionary in India for decades – founded hospitals and leprosaria all over the place," Adele explained. "He's rather a national hero. But I thought he'd retired …"

"He did, after his wife died," Dr. Kaur corrected. "But I remember hearing last year that he was talking about unretiring to go to Afghanistan …"

Tony could see Dr. Kaur's resolve weakening. "Colonel Rhodes and I will be going, along with Natalie Rushman, whom you met briefly when you arrived in L.A. – she's with the Department of Defense. And there's … another operative in the region that'll be helping us out, specifically to rescue Dr. Niall. We wanted to get one more person, someone with combat experience who won't freeze up in a crisis. And naturally, Adele, we thought of you. I've got armor you can use, and weapons. We just want someone who knows their way around a ground operation."

"If it were anybody other than Graham Niall …," Dr. Kaur ruminated.

"I still say this is a bad idea," Dr. Goldman declared.

Adele turned to the doctors. "Look, except for the lamotrigine, everything in my recovery has gone according to plan – you've said it yourselves. Now that that's working, I really am in great shape. And … and this sort of thing is what I've been doing for years, what I was trained for. I can do this."

As the doctors absorbed Adele's statement, Tony hit upon a possible way to broker a compromise. "Dr. Kaur, would you be willing to come along as well? Not into combat, of course, but as medical support in case something goes wrong. Even aside from Adele, we don't know what shape the captives are in …"

The two doctors exchanged a look, and finally Dr. Goldman shrugged. "It's a deal," Dr. Kaur told Tony, not very enthusiastically.

Tony didn't need enthusiasm, or even necessarily approval – he could've approved it unilaterally if he'd had to. But he was glad he hadn't. "Okay. Come Thursday, we've got a plane to catch."

* * *

Noon Thursday saw Tony at the jet center at LAX, where his private plane was kept. Loaders from the airport and from Stark Industries had already filled the plane's small cargo hold with one of Tony's Iron Man suits, Rhodey's War Machine outfit (all the Hammer tech having long since been swapped out for more reliable SI hardware), lighter but still effective armor and weapons for Natalie and Adele, the medical equipment Dr. Kaur requested, and an unmarked, bulletproof black Humvee for Natalie and Adele's use (on loan from Vandenberg, thanks to a call by Rhodey). The two women would be the main ground force of the operation, while Tony took care of air support (with help) and Rhodey covered a little of both depending on the need.

Most of the group was already settling in on the plane in preparation for the flight to Peshawar Air Force Base, the Pakistani government's contribution to the rescue effort (thanks to a lot of arm-twisting by the U.S. State and Defense departments). There they would leave the plane, and Tony, Rhodey, Natalie and Adele would head for where the Waziri kidnappers' hideout was believed to be, while Dr. Kaur set up her equipment for when they brought the hostages back. But Tony had one more item to take care of before departure.

"You didn't really need me here to see you off," Pepper told him.

"Well … I perceived a need," he replied. "Look, I really wanted to talk to you about something before I left."

"Okay. It's not business stuff, I know …" Tony's jet was equipped with enough electronics that he could easily run his company from 35,000 feet. It was amazing what you could fit in there once you pulled out the stripper poles and disco lights.

"No, it's … personal." Tony gritted his teeth and decided he'd better just say it before his nerves betrayed him. "Look, Pep … you know and I know that if things work out, I could end up doing this a lot … dashing all over the world, putting myself in the line of fire."

"I know." She seemed resigned to it.

"And … and I wanted to give you this … but I don't know if you'll want to accept it under those circumstances." Out of his pocket, he brought a small jewelry box.

Pepper took it, eyes widening, and slowly opened the hinged lid. Inside was a gold ring, set with a triangular ice-blue sapphire surrounded by small red rubies. Clearly, it had been patterned after Tony's suit.

"I don't want you to give me an answer until I'm back from this job, because I don't want you to have any regrets about your decision. But … but if it's up to me, I always want to be able … to come back to you. Forever, if possible." Tony stopped. He'd shot his bolt; nothing to do but wait for an answer.

It seemed like half of forever before Pepper looked up from the box. "Don't answer you now?"

"No."

"Okay." Then she pulled him close for a hard kiss before adding, "But when you come back, the answer will be yes."

Tony found he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but stand there and be happy.

Until he was interrupted by a yell from the door of the plane. "C'mon, Tony!" Rhodey shouted. "We gonna do this or not?"

Tony sighed and grimaced. "Duty, uh, bellows."

Pepper gave him a tear-brimming smile. "Go get 'em. I'll be waiting for you."

Tony walked to the plane, up the stairs and past a bewildered Rhodey. "What was going on there?"

"Just … passing on a bit of jewelry," Tony replied quietly, with a slight smile.

"Passing on a bit of … naw. Yeah? _Nawwww …_"

Tony didn't say a word, just headed for his seat.

* * *

The toughest part of the trip, for Tony, was convincing people to rest early. It was fourteen hours to Peshawar, so their body clocks would read about 2 a.m. Friday when they arrived. But local time would be 3 in the afternoon, and they would need to be ready to go within an hour after landing. That meant a really early bedtime for everybody, which got him some static about being old and needing his naptime, until he walked everyone through the logic.

Disembarking, though, couldn't have been simpler. The Pakistani Air Force had cleared out a runway and a hangar specifically for their arrival, and sixty minutes after landing the plane was stowed away, Dr. Kaur's makeshift hospital was set up, Natalie and Adele were on the road, Tony and Rhodey were in the air …

… and Natalie had picked up a bogey. "Sir, southeast of us - I think I'm picking up a different sort of 'friendly fire' …"

Tony looked in the direction she'd indicated. Sure enough, a second, smaller sun had appeared in the late afternoon sky and was catching up. "Okay, folks, radios to channel two, encrypted. Prometheus, you read me?"

"Loud and clear, Tony, loud and clear."

Good – the radio rig he'd overnighted to Dr. Walling to install in his Haz-Tech suit was operational. He'd been concerned he'd have to direct him with hand signals again. "All right. Prometheus, allow me to introduce War Machine – my wingman here." In this circumstance (a clandestine mission) and out of respect for Chris's privacy, he'd decided they were just going to roll with the codenames. "And in the truck down below we have Black Widow and … uh …"

Just as Tony realized that he hadn't remembered to give Adele a pseudonym, she jumped in. "Pegasus, sir. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Prometheus."

"A fellow member of the Commonwealth? How delightful!"

"Thought you'd like that," Tony smirked. "Okay, let me go over our plan for your sake. The intelligence we have has narrowed it down to a complex of three west-facing caves, just over the border into Afghanistan. We're aiming to get there close to sunset – we'll make a hook and come at them from the west, using the sun as camouflage. When we get there, you, me and War Machine will lay down covering fire – literal and figurative – nailing anything that looks like it might be a weapon while Black Widow and Pegasus get up to the cave entrance. The ladies will park, grab their weapons, drop transponders outside the cave mouths and head in, with War Machine following. They'll extract the captives, get them to the vehicle and high-tail it back the way we came. You and I will hold the fort up here unless we hear from them that they need help; if so, I'll go in. I don't want you on the ground unless you've got a malfunction, okay?"

"I understand. I'd be a sitting duck."

"Precisely. This is my first crack at leading a team in something like this, so I'd like to get out with no deaths on my conscience. Everything clear?"

Everything was, so off they went.

And sometimes, Tony later decided, you just get lucky. They arrived about ten minutes before sunset, so they were able to take advantage of the sun's position, the ambient heat of the day and the general tiredness of the Waziri "troops." Their targets had almost no big weaponry, which meant that within thirty seconds of the team's arrival they had no big weaponry at all. The cave complex was a lot shallower than expected, and only two sleepy _mujaheddin_ were with the prisoners. Natalie and Adele were able to dispatch them quickly and start moving the captives.

There were only two complications. One was that the consul's son had a fractured tibia, splinted but not set, which made moving him more difficult. The other was that as Rhodey, Natalie and Adele came back out of the caves with the rescuees, a machine gun firing forced them all to drop to the ground.

"Crap – where is he?"

"Over there!" Chris Walling sent a bolt of fire at the gunner, missing him by ten feet but close enough that Tony spotted the man – who'd been scared enough by the blast that he let off the trigger.

"Got it!" Tony sent a small missile that obliterated the rock the man had been hiding behind, in the process throwing him back about twelve feet and causing him to drop his weapon. Chris took advantage, moving in quickly and heating up the AK-47 knockoff enough to cook off the bullets in the clip. The Waziri, disarmed and intimidated, decided he was better off living to fight another day and fled.

By then, it looked like all their non-airborne personnel were safely cocooned in the Humvee. "Black Widow, any casualties?"

"None, sir. Ahmed did get a bloody nose – when we hit the deck there, he hit it a little too hard …"

"You are a woman?" came an accented voice from a distance, or at least from outside Natalie's helmet.

"Welcome to the 21st century, boys," Adele quipped dryly. Tony had the impression it was a line she'd used before, probably in Iraq.

"Okay, folks, let's haul ass before those guys take a notion to regroup." Tony saw War Machine launching from the ground to join him, and the Humvee spitting dirt and rocks behind it as it turned to head southeast, and Chris … wait, where was Chris? "Prometheus, where are you?"

"Just a moment, sir." Sure enough, he came flying up on his port side about thirty seconds later. "Hope it's all right that I left them a little note …"

Tony would've laughed if it hadn't seemed un-leader-like. "Yeah, it's fine, I guess. Which verse?"

"Psalm 133:1."

Tony heard Rhodey chuckling. He was glad _someone_ knew what it meant. "Okay …"

He could hear the smile in Dr. Walling's voice. "_Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity._"

Tony grinned and looked around at his team. It was pretty pleasant at that. "Yeah … that'll work. C'mon, folks, let's go home ..."


	15. Epilogue

Hearts and Souls

Epilogue: We Are Gathered Together …

(A special note of thanks to everyone who has reviewed, subscribed to or favorited this story over the last fourteen months. Without an appreciative readership, a writer is just a lonely neurotic talking to himself. You have been the Parmesan on my spaghetti, folks - this chapter is for you.)

* * *

Rhodey had a great vantage point to look at the crowd. And what a crowd it was.

It had been almost three years since Tony had thrown any parties, so the ballroom at the Stark mansion had gone unused all that time. But this rainy Saturday morning in January, it had been turned into a rather sharp-looking wedding chapel. And everyone was there.

Standing next to Rhodey were Tony's other groomsmen, Bill Riva and Happy Hogan. Across from them were Pepper's bridesmaids – Melanie Haeger (an old friend from Pepper's college days), Natalie Rushman and Sue Kim. Rhodey didn't know the details, but apparently Sue's entrance into the bridal party had caused some tension and led to delicate negotiations between the bride and groom. They'd finally settled it only with a scheme that was worthy of Tony Stark's genius.

Tony had realized that once his and Pepper's relationship went public, the chances of a quiet private wedding dropped precipitously. So he made it an exclusive – and sold the rights to _Vanity Fair_ and Christine Everhart, in continued thanks for her unintentional life-saving actions of a few years previous. The magazine would have full rights to pictures from the ceremony (which they planned to pair with Christine's interview of Tony in the March issue), and Christine (whom Tony wanted to invite anyway, but whom Pepper loathed) got a seat on the groom's side, along with a _VF_ staff photographer. (And the purchase price for the exclusive went to the American Red Cross.) Christine's inclusion was the price of Sue's.

Other notables were in attendance. Most of the Stark Industries high command, department heads and board members, were there; Ronny Blankenship would be giving away the bride. Nick Fury had made the trip, and for his trouble had been introduced to one Dr. Christopher Walling and his date Dr. Martha Chavan, whom Tony had flown all the way from India and put up at the Malibu Beach Inn at his own expense. Nick and Dr. Walling (whom Rhodey recognized only after hearing his voice) were huddled together at that moment, having what was probably an interesting conversation. Larry Ellison and several other tech bigwigs were present, along with a smattering of local politicians and a few Hollywood luminaries. And there was a sizable contingent from the Pegasus Project.

Rhodey smiled at Adele Carey – third row, bride's side - who gave him a smile and wave in return. It had taken him a bit of work to realize that part of the reason he'd reacted so strongly to Tony's perceived pass at Adele back in October was jealousy. But once he had, he knew what he needed to do. He'd finally taken the chance to talk to her about it on (ironically) Tony's plane when they were flying to Washington for the public announcement about Pegasus, at the White House on Christmas Eve. (A nice bit of scheduling, as it meant feel-good front-page stories on Christmas Day, usually the slowest news day of the year.) She was also so inclined – in fact, she'd been wondering what was taking _him_ so long to act – and aside from when Air Force business took him elsewhere, they'd been close to inseparable since.

Yeah, everything was ready for the wedding of the year, new though the year was. With two exceptions.

_Where the hell were the bride and groom?_

Rhodey looked at the municipal judge (a friend of Tony's) who would perform the ceremony, but the old man just shrugged. Well, once a babysitter … "I'll see if I can hunt them down," he said to the others in the wedding party, and shaking his head, he went to do just that.

It wasn't that hard, actually. Rhodey guessed that if both Tony and Pepper were running late, that meant they'd either slipped off for some pre-ceremonial nookie and lost track of time (unlikely, though not impossible) or …

He headed downstairs.

… yep, they were working on something in the lab. "Uh, guys? Not to be a pain or anything, but _your wedding_ was supposed to start ten minutes ago?"

"Which means nothing is going to happen until we get there," Tony remarked. He was wearing his tuxedo, and the right gauntlet of his suit.

Pepper giggled, then added, "though we probably should wrap this up soon." She was looking radiant in an ivory Vera Wang wedding dress, one that had been refitted twice in the last month to accommodate her burgeoning pregnancy. "You think it'll work this time?"

"If it doesn't, I'm out of ideas for the time being. Release the hound!"

Pepper picked up a glass jar from a nearby table, unscrewed the lid and freed a housefly from its captivity. The fly buzzed around, exploring its environment for something to nibble, flew within two feet of Tony …

… and Tony snatched it out of the air with his gauntleted hand and a sharp bark of triumph. "Ha!"

Pepper shook her head. "All that trouble with the gauntlets - because of two redundant lines of code. Which means, Tony, you're going to need to reprogram Adele's hand …"

"After the honeymoon."

"Ours or theirs?" Pepper quipped, motioning to Rhodey.

He was just glad white people couldn't tell if he was blushing. "Well done, Grasshopper," he told Tony. "Now can we get on with this?"

Tony held up the fly, still buzzing in his metal grip. "You've served us well, little fella." Then he crushed it, threw it in the garbage and began removing the gauntlet. "JARVIS, copy the edited program into both suits for later today. Pep, can you reattach this –" He held the gauntlet up. "- to my main suit?"

"Sure. James, could you tell Ronny I'll meet him upstairs in just a minute?"

"Not a problem." Rhodey already had Tony by the arm and was leading him toward the ballroom. Once they were out of earshot, he said, "looks like you two are gonna make this thing work."

"Like I've said before, Platypus – she completes me." No smirk this time.

* * *

After that, at least, everything went off without a hitch. The vows were said, rings were exchanged, the couple were pronounced husband and wife, and the bride got thoroughly kissed. The guests repaired to the formal dining hall, while two photographers (_Vanity Fair_'s and the one Tony and Pepper brought in) took pictures of the wedding party and the event staff transformed the ballroom back into a ballroom. Once lunch and the accompanying toasts ended, the DJ started spinning tunes and the dance floor and bar were opened. Drinks were drunk, fun was had, one Stark exec wrenched a back muscle while dancing "Planet Claire," and someone had to hunt down Christine Everhart's notepad after she lost it, then passed out, following her fifth Alabama Slammer. (Pepper seemed mildly amused at that; Tony just shook his head.)

Soon it was time for Tony and Pepper to sneak off, change out of their formal clothes and get ready to leave on their honeymoon (location undisclosed to anyone but Rhodey, Ronny, Natalie and Happy – all of whom were sworn to secrecy). Rhodey had already made sure Tony's limo was suitably decorated with shaving cream and soda cans; the plan was for Happy to drive them to LAX, where they'd take the plane to their destination. But fifteen minutes after the couple's departure from the ballroom, Happy came up to Rhodey, looking confused. "Boss just gave me this note to give to you …"

Rhodey took it and looked at it. It simply said, "_Have everyone come outside, via the front door. T._"

He turned back to Happy. "Probably just going to do the bouquet throwing out there. I think the rain's stopped for the moment – let's tell them to move." And soon the hundred or so guests (minus Christine, still sleeping it off in a guest bedroom) were out in front of the house, waiting for whatever came next.

What came next was an ominous bass rumble from the opposite side of the house.

Rhodey spun around, and was quickly joined by everyone else. _What the …?_

That question was answered soon enough, as a familiar red-and-gold suit appeared, rising over the roof. But what followed it was the real surprise: a similarly constructed suit, only a little smaller, done in pink and silver, with a slightly bulging belly. And in its (newly reprogrammed) right gauntlet, the bridal bouquet.

Rhodey glanced at Happy. "Toldja."

The two suits moved until they were hovering about thirty feet above the crowd. Then the pink one wound up and threw the flowers underhand toward the guests. Most of the women were too stunned by the spectacle to even get their hands up, and those who did were out of position. The bouquet ended up dropping like a cricket ball right into the grasp of Dr. Martha Chavan, who stared at it uncomprehendingly until Dr. Walling explained the tradition to her.

And then as one, the two suits turned to face southeast, began moving away, picked up speed, and with twin sonic booms disappeared over the horizon.

Leaving Sue Kim, still staring up at the sky, to summarize the situation. "Best. Wedding trousseau. Ever." And the whole assemblage broke up laughing.

* * *

_(Do note that I didn't use the words "THE END." Because it's not; not for Tony and Pepper – obviously, duh – and not for me. Beginning next week, I'll be starting a series of short stories entitled "Vignettes," which is French for … well, for "short stories." They'll continue the plot line of "Hearts and Souls" through the coming years, as Tony and Pepper deal with marriage, parenting, Stark Industries and whatever else might come along. I plan on posting one per week through the end of the year, and then wrapping it all up, kicking back and waiting for the release of _The Avengers_. Stay tuned!)_


End file.
